Passacaglia
by josephineb
Summary: After Miraz's defeat four years ago, the Pevensies remained in Narnia. Suddenly, Peter is having strange dreams of a mysterious rider on horseback, and nobody seems to be able to shake the feeling that something wicked this way comes.
1. Prologue

Authors note: hello! _Passacaglia_ is my ongoing journey into the world of Narnian fanfiction, and an attempt to write an original character into this universe without falling victim to the many pitfalls inherent in that process. Anything you recognize is not mine, everything else is.

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**_Prologue_**

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_After the overthrow of Miraz at the battle of Aslan's How and the second battle of Beruna, and the following coronation of Caspian as a King of Narnia, the four Pevensies had resigned themselves to going home. Narnia was no longer without a rightful King –all was now as it ought to have been._

_As so often happens, one day not too far away from the great events above mentioned, the four had happened upon the same place in their individual wanderings of the castle, a small green meadow long overrun by nature itself. It was there that they sat; each lost in their own thoughts, when a sweet smelling wind softly blew past, ruffling their hair and clothes._

_As Aslan appeared before them, padding softly to where they sat, none of the children were surprised. It felt natural to them that he should appear in that moment, as natural as the following of autumn by winter, and the following of winter by spring._

"_Are you sending us back to England, Aslan?" Lucy ventured to ask. The great Lion looked at them with a gaze that was full and bright. _

"_No dear ones," He said, his voice deep and rich, "you will remain in Narnia". He raised his head to the sky, inhaling a deep breath that stirred the air around them. "I cannot see the future, dear ones; only the consequences of choices already made. And I can only offer guidance to those who seek it. I do not know why or how, but there has been a change in the fabric of fate, from beyond the borders of this land, and beyond where I can see. There has been a change, and you will come to know it. It comes on the western wind and brings joy and life, but also pain and death. You must be strong. Trust in Caspian, for he will be a good King. Teach him about Narnia, for he wishes to know it. Trust in yourselves, and in Me. Know that I love you, and that I know you. Difficult times lie ahead...but do not live fearfully. There is time yet. Be not troubled, but ready. Narnia waits to be strong once more. She waits for you."_

_And as he finished, the Pevensies knew his words to be true. They knew that there was something coming that would test their faith – in Aslan, in Narnia and in themselves. But they also knew that it would not come tomorrow, or the day after, or the day after that. They knew that there was time now not to fear, but to build. To build happiness and strength, trust and hope. So that on that day, when it came, Narnia would be ready to face it. _

_And as they stood to embrace him, he breathed on them a sweet breath full of deep magic, blessing them. "Know that I am always here when you need me most," he said, nudging them playfully forward. "Go now, and rejoice. A new age has begun". The four ran back into the castle, pausing at the doorway to look back behind them. Aslan was gone, as quickly and as silently as he had come. They smiled, and the courtyard which for so long had been barren and empty heard the strains of their laughter before they disappeared behind the stone walls. _

_But the Pevensies were not the only ones to see Aslan that night. Caspian sat on his bed in the Castle that had been his only home for all of his life, when he turned his head to find Aslan standing in the opened doorway of the balcony, the setting sun behind him. Caspian lowered his eyes, and knelt. "Aslan," he said, with wonder and fear in his voice. _

"_Rise, dear one," Aslan said as he walked into the room, coming to be in front of Caspian, who sat back down on the bed. "You have won a great victory, yet you are troubled. Why?" He asked. Caspian looked at Aslan then; really, truly looked at him, and knew that he could not lie to one who saw into his heart. _

"_I – I do not know," he answered, his voice flowing with the smooth accent of his forefathers. "I do not know what to feel." _

"_I did not know what to expect when I came back to this place," he continued. "I suppose I always thought that if I ever managed to overthrow Miraz, this castle would finally feel like home. But I look at these walls and feel only emptiness and pain. I do not know what that means. And I fear that if I do not know what even that means...then how can I know how to be King?" _

"_You are young, dear one," Aslan breathed softly. "You have known only pain and suffering behind these walls. Do not look to the stones for comfort and healing, for they cannot aid you. What has been done is done, and cannot be reversed. Instead, look within you, and to the ones who love you. Know that home is wherever your heart resides. Know that since others now carry a piece of your heart in theirs, you will feel home whenever you are with them. And know that there is a place for you in Narnia, whether you believe it now, or not. You doubt yourself - you are inexperienced, yes. But you care for the people of Narnia, and your heart is good and pure. The work of a King is never easy, and there are troubled times ahead, as I have told your brothers and sisters. But trust in them, trust in me, and trust in yourself. There is fear in your heart. But there is love and courage too."_

_And Caspian heard his words, and knew them to be true. He knew that he loved Narnia, and that he would always strive to protect it and those who had come into his life to help him save it. He knew that there would be hardships ahead, but that he would learn now, work now, build now, in order that he might see them through. He was still scared. He knew little about being King, and worried that he might turn out like his Uncle had been – A man who was unable to tell the difference between reigning over and owning a people. _

"_You will be a good king, Caspian the tenth," Aslan continued in his heavy, golden voice. "Do not be afraid. I believe in you." He licked Caspian softly on his forehead, and Caspian closed his eyes. When he opened them, Aslan was gone. _

_Caspian looked around the room, turning his eyes to the balcony where the wind blew through the silky curtains. He stood and walked over to it, leaning his hands on the stone railing. Just as he did, another gust of wind blew into the room. But this was no ordinary wind. It was stronger, and carried that sweet smell that meant Aslan was near; a mix of honey and cinnamon, of fond memories long held dear, of sunsets and sunrises. Caspian closed his eyes against it, letting it surround him. He felt the magic against his cheeks and on the palms of his hands. _

_He turned and ran out of the room, off to find the Kings and Queens of old; his friends...his family. He found them in the great hall flooded by the warm light of the dying sun. And when they saw him, the Pevensies smiled and laughed, calling out. Peter's booming voice shouted his name, and Lucy's laugh was full of music, like wind through chimes. He came closer to them and saw a grin on Edmunds face and trust in his deep brown eyes. And Susan's were full of warmth and something else, deep caramel pools that reminded him of Aslan's mane. _

_They clapped him on the shoulder and hugged him, surrounding him as they sat. To the East lay Cair Paravel and Peter almost thought he could see its spires far away across the rolling hills. Caspian looked at him and seemed to know what he was thinking, for he was thinking it too._

"_We'll rebuild it," he said softly, "as soon as we can". And they knew he wasn't just talking about the Castle, but Narnia itself, which had survived the sickness, but was now in need of healing. _

"_We saw Aslan," Edmund said. "Something's coming." Caspian nodded. _

"_He told me as well. But there is time yet, I think."_

"_Yes," agreed Lucy, "there is. Time at least for tonight, isn't there? Let's just spend tonight talking and telling stories, and thinking of good things". _

"_That's a right good idea, you know," Peter added. He was silent for a minute, and thoughtful. "Say Ed, do you remember that time we were coming back from Archenland and that young princess...what was her name? She had hidden herself in the caravan and we found her on the way home? She said she thought that if she got all the way to Narnia you'd marry her!" He began to laugh loudly, the force of it shaking his shoulders, causing everyone else to follow suit. _

"_Mathilda" Edmund replied drolly, remembering the incident not quite as fondly. _

_Lucy laughed suddenly, loudly, and they all turned to look at her. "Oh my gosh!" she managed out between laughs. "I just remembered that time when we were in the breakfast room and that little faun spilled hot porridge all over Edmund's lap, and then he knocked over that pitcher of ice water on to Peter, right as that envoy from Galma was walking in! God he looked mortified, do you remember that! You two were flying about like chickens!" And she dissolved into laughter on the floor, taking Susan along with her. Edmund looked at Caspian._

"_I'm not faring well in this little trip down memory lane," he remarked dryly, but his eyes smiled. Lucy finally calmed down long enough to take a real look out the window. The sun was bright against her eyes, but she kept them open. She was happy, in the best way that one could be happy. It was the kind of happiness that was contagious, that spilled over and touched other people's very souls until they felt it too. She imagined to herself a __**lifetime**__ of Narnia, and the happiness intensified - she felt it thrum through her very being, through the bridge of her nose and the tips of her fingers and the bends of her knees. She thought about never having to worry whether this day would be their last, never having to remember to say goodbye to make sure you didn't miss your chance. She smiled a soft, secret sort of smile, and thought of Aslan. _

'_I always knew you would bring us back' she thought. And as she turned to join again in the laughter to her right, she thought that she could almost feel Aslan beside her, smiling. _

_And as the five kings and queens laughed on into the night, that same mischievous breeze rolled through the castle once more, filling its nooks and crevices with a sweet smell. _

_A new age had begun. _

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	2. One: The Fugitive

**Chapter One:**

**The Fugitive**

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_Four years later_

The night was dark, and the stones of the outer wall were sandy and cool beneath her fingers. She could hardly see in the blackness around her, and the harsh wind that blew up the stairway made her pause. As it abided, she kept her thoughts strictly on the unsteady path before her, not daring to think of anything else.

Aara knew the penalty for treason.

She swallowed harshly. She could not help thinking that the darkness and coldness of the night were omens of some kind - Tashbaan was known for its dry, arid heat, and the chill of the night was uncharacteristic and foreign around her person.

While one hand trailed the dirty stones, the other grasped tightly onto a medium sized bag with a small handle which dug uncomfortably into her palm. Aara wished now that she had thought to bring one with a longer strap so that she might lower it over her shoulder, but there was no time now. This was all there was, and it would have to do.

_Yes_, she thought. _It will have to do._

Her slippered feet moved as quickly as possible down the slope, but it was not easy. The palace of the Tisroc was one of the highest points in the city, second only to the great temple of Tash that sat at the pinnacle of the hill. The island that made up the capital city of Tashbaan rose out of the water like a shining white mountain, with levels and levels of houses and buildings curling around each other, reaching into the sky. There were hidden stairs and drops everywhere along the old roads, made only more difficult by the darkness of the night. The main roadways were easier to travel, but she could not afford to take any of them for fear of being seen by one of the city guards. So she travelled the cramped and crumbling empty servants' pathways out the back of the palace, through deserted side streets and rarely used back ways, to where a small boat would be waiting for her in a hidden dock.

Aara made her way down level after level; she had been lucky so far – the chill of the night had kept people indoors, not outside and asking questions about what a pretty girl like her was doing this time of night on this level, and didn't she look familiar from somewhere? But the Gods did not want to make this easy for her, and she stopped suddenly as she heard voices behind her. Male voices. Guards. _Keep Walking_ she told herself, but her body did not , she pressed herself as flat as she could against the wall, and slinked her body down to the ground. She could see the shadows of the two men behind her, higher up on the road, illuminated by a lantern they were carrying. Her heart beat impossibly fast as they neared closer to her, and she was almost sure they could hear it too, the thumping sound of the blood pumping through her veins only getting louder and louder.

Aara spotted a rough brown canvas sheet to her right and quickly pulled it over herself, as a sort of makeshift head shawl. She took off her slippers and slid them behind her with trembling hands, and then rubbed her palms all over the dusty ground and the dirty wall. Hopefully she would look just like any other homeless woman stuck on the streets. Aara cursed herself for not thinking of a disguise earlier. She didn't know when she would have gotten one, but she cursed herself all the same.

_Tash protect me_ she whispered to herself, her lips moving around the words easily and practiced. The men came upon her then, talking and laughing. She ducked her head and held out her hand, as if asking for money. Her hand shook all on its own, and she muttered words slowly in the old language as they passed her. One of the men looked at her and laughed, throwing her a bronze crescent. The other barely paid her any attention. She nodded her head up and down and up and down, curling her hand around the crescent, feeling its edges slice into her palm.

She continued sitting until she saw the men take a side street, off her path. As soon as they were out of sight and earshot, Aara put her slippers back on and jumped up, taking her makeshift disguise with her. She had wasted precious time – the boat would only wait so long. She rushed down the streets now, her bag in one hand and the other grasping blindly in front of her. _One more level, just one more level. _

She was almost there. She could see and smell the waterfront now, and it spurred her feet onwards, faster and faster. She had only been down to the last level one or two times in her life – the only people who lived here were the poorest of the poor. Most of the houses were shelters, hovels, filled with old widowed women and orphaned children. The entire level was a large dock, with fishermen, traders, and travellers coming at all hours of the day and night to unload catch and goods and people. It was called _Ma'aequus_, which meant 'water level', but Aara knew people used the slang term _Karavus_ instead, which literally meant 'asshole'.

She slinked through the shadows, running to a long dock that was half hidden by large rocks surrounding the shore. She felt the dusty ground beneath her feet turn to wood as she reached it, hearing the thumping sound that her slippers made on its surface. _But the boat – where was the boat?_ She looked around frantically, until she saw it at the very end of dock – beginning to leave!

"Wait!" She shouted, knowing it was the only way the man would hear her. He did, and began to turn back to the wooden platform. She started to run.

"Please, wait! I'm coming!" She shouted again. Half way down, she heard shouts behind her. She snapped her head around, the wind from the water whipping her long black hair about her face making it difficult to see. The flash of red on their uniforms was enough to know who they were.

"Stop!" They shouted. "By order of his majesty, the Tisroc!"

Aara's arms flailed in front of her, her hair and the fabric of her dress whipping around her body, her legs pumping furiously, but in that moment time seemed to suddenly slow. She could see the clear night sky around her, and the glittering lights of Calormene's mainland in the distance. She could see the boat in front of her, so, so close. She noticed the way the waves had begun to churn angrily underneath the wooden platform. And she thought she heard - but it was probably just a boat coming up against the walls – a roar.

And then the dock exploded behind her.

Aara watched, eyes wide, as a huge column of water ripped vertically through the dock, completely obliterating it and cutting off the way to cross. Water and waves swirled angrily underneath, surging upwards and throwing guards over the side.

_What magic is this?_ She thought fleetingly, as she reached the boat finally, throwing herself off the dock and into the small vessel.

"Where to?" The boat driver asked her, not bothering to use any formalities or titles along with his question, and looking as though he needed to get away from here as quickly as possible. She was not used to being addressed so informally, but then again she did look like a beggar. And she supposed it was better to keep it that way. She didn't want any undue attention being brought to her, after all.

"The North Bank," Aara answered. "As close to the point as possible, and as fast as you can. A bronze crescent for you if you can get us there in an hour".

He raised his eyebrows at the mention of a bronze crescent, but complied, and set off. She would have at least a few hours until the guard regrouped and reported back to the Tisroc, but she hadn't counted on them seeing her. Aara scoffed at herself. _You should be so lucky_, she thought. _Did you really think you would get away unseen? Or even at all? Count your blessings. _

She couldn't believe that she had made it off the island. Weeks of planning, of dreaming, of hoping...

Images flashed beneath her eyelids, images from the dreams. A castle by the sea and a great lion..._go north, _he said. G_o north with a warning. _

The dreams had started when she had first come to the palace, two months ago. They began as fleeting images, sounds, colors...she had thought it was just nervousness at this new stage in her life, the way a child dreams of home when she is far away. But as the nights went on, and the dreams became more vivid, she knew that this castle was no place she had ever called home. Lush green forests, rushing icy rivers, a land covered in snow...but the only temperature Aara had ever known was heat.

_Go north with a warning,_ he said.

But what warning? She struggled with the dreams every night, getting little sleep and making the Tisroc angry with her drowsiness and clumsiness during the day. Then one night, two weeks ago, she heard something that she was not meant to hear.

Looking back, she did not know why she had stopped in front of the door - _a swathe of golden light shining out from a half closed door _- or why she had even been in that part of the palace - _a group of men, powerful men_ - she ought to have walked right past - _the Tisroc, in the middle_ - but there was something that compelled her to stay - _weak...they'll never be able to withstand us...too many monarchs...attack...war...invasion...subjection...Narnia.._

Aara recalled how in that very moment her dreams suddenly had made sense. She recalled how her head had shot up as it all came together (_Go north with a warning, he said)_ and how her hands had dropped the bowl of perfumed water she had taken from the servant girl to bring to her own bedchamber. She recalled gasping, another person's shout, (_Someone's there!) _and then running as quickly as she could around the corner, the last tendrils of her long black hair making their way around the bend just as the door was opened. She recalled miraculously not being found and then making her way slowly and normally to her bedchamber, where she scrubbed at her hands for an hour until they bled, trying to rid them of the smell of rosewater.

_Go north with a warning._

She recalled falling to the floor, the cool marble tiles soothing against her skin as she fell into a deep, trance like sleep, where her servants found still the next morning. The next morning she had a plan: she would travel to this land of Narnia, farther away than she had ever gone in all her life. She would go to the castle by the sea with her warning. She would complete this task that Tash had put before her.

She would escape this place – this palace, this prison...

And she would never come back.

The point loomed in front of them – the most northern part of Calormen. The driver had done good on his word, getting them there in just over an hour.

They began to dock and Aara gathered her bag, bringing out the bronze crescent and handing it over.

"Thank you for your service," she said, wincing internally directly after. No low born person would speak so politely to this man, or so softly. She was going to have to work on that.

The man grabbed her wrist in his hand as she was about to walk away.

"Keep the crescent girl," he said, "you can pay me another way, yes?" his accent was thick and strong, and she could see his tongue lolling around in his mouth as he spoke, as if there were not enough room inside for it.

Aara wrenched her wrist out of his grasp, feeling the sting of twisting skin, and walked away quickly, hearing him laugh loudly behind her. She was going to have to learn to interact with people like that, too. Her life, she realized, had been a sheltered one. In Tashbaan, no man would dare speak to her or touch her in that way in public. _But what about in private?_ A little voice inside her head whispered. It was true – women in Calormen had a sort of semblance of equality, but in reality, it was nonexistent. They could be bartered and sold, just like slaves, and were expected complete obedience to their husbands. Girls from the lower levels of the city had it worse off though, and she had thought that she herself would be spared a life like that. Her sister had, after all, been married to a wonderful man whose views on women were more modern. Her family was very wealthy, and did not need to marry her off to just anyone with money, but...one could not deny the Tisroc anything.

But what was past was past, and could not be undone. There was only this moment, and the next, and the next.

She walked through the already busy streets, wanting to find a place to sleep but knowing she couldn't. She had to find the stable and put some distance between herself and the city.

The horse had been the most expensive thing she had ever bought with her own money, and the Tisroc had been furious when he had found out from the servant she had sent to buy it. She was not supposed to be using crescents.

"It is a gift for my father, who is a great lover of horses," she had lied, backed up against a wall by his large frame, his hand gripping her chin forcefully. "Just a gift, to thank him for allowing this match between us".

He had looked pleased then, and released her chin, patting her twice, hard, on the cheek.

"Acceptable," he said, a smirk on his face. "Do you like horses?" he had asked next, confusing her. Was he truly interested?

"...yes, I, I have known how to ride since childhood. My father taught us."

"Good," he had replied, coming closer to her then with a lecherous look on his face. "When we are wed, I'll make sure you ride every night". She had forced herself to keep a smile on her face at the comment, and had forced the bile that had appeared in the back of her throat to stay down as he trailed his hand down her body.

Not even the Tisroc was exempt from rules of courtesy regarding high born women, but as his hand travelled lower, the blood in her veins turned to ice.

"Tisroc, may you live forever," someone said suddenly from down the hall. It was a guard, who bowed deeply and made his way over to them. She had allowed herself a small breath, not quite believing her good fortune.

"What is it," he asked, not looking too pleased to be taken away from his toy.

"General Taarkenen has arrived".

"Tell him I'll be there shortly" he answered. It didn't matter though- he could take as long as he wanted, and they would still have to wait graciously. The guard bowed again, and hurried off.

"We'll continue this later, hmm?" he had said to her then, not needing an answer as he trailed his thumb across her lip once, and then walked away.

Thankfully the Tisroc had been occupied fully this last week, not allowing that to become a reality.

_They'll come after you_ Aara reminded herself. But now there was nothing she could do. She had set in motion a series of events that could not be undone.

Aara reached the stable and went inside, having to give the stable master her real name because she had forgotten to use an alias when purchasing it. That was a mistake – they would come this way and know she left on horseback. Her only advantage was time, and the fact that they did not know where she was headed.

The horse was a beautiful white Arabian stallion named Abyad, who whinnied when Aara went up to him.

Ten minutes later, a single horse rode out of the small town of Tarnik, heading north on the Hawa'a al bahr path alongside the ocean.

And on the other side of the great desert, past the Winding Arrow River, across the mountains of Archenland and farther than Glasswater bay in a castle by the sea, a young King awoke suddenly from a vivid dream.

He sat up, arms shaking; he ran his fingers through the golden hair plastered to his forehead, and recalled the dream that had woken him so harshly from his sleep. Visions of a girl whose face he could not see...crouched down against a wall, running on some kind of wooden platform, an explosion...her long black hair whipping behind her and a majestic white stallion beneath her. A dry heat, of some kind...he was absolutely drenched.

But mostly he felt Aslan. All throughout and everywhere within the dream, his deep rich voice proclaiming,

_It has begun._

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	3. Two: The State of the Union

**Chapter Two:**

**The State of the Union**

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Peter Pevensie had been awake since four in the morning, startled from sleep by a dream that would not leave his mind. He had tried falling back to sleep but it had been useless; his whole body felt awake, thrumming with energy.

Peter was not an obtuse man, and years of battle and aristocratic negotiations had honed his instincts. If something _felt_ wrong, it was usually because something _was_ wrong, and that was the main reason why he found himself walking down the hall at five thirty in the morning, still in his bed clothes and bare feet, to wake his siblings. _The guards would have a field day with this one_, he thought to himself.

He reached Susan's rooms first, walking into her chambers and rousing her gently from sleep with a hand on her shoulder. "Su," he said, his voice low.

She woke slowly, the expressions on her face changing gradually from a sleepy frustration to a docile wakefulness. "Peter?" she asked, her voice rough with sleep, looking him over – his hair was all askew, not to mention he was still in his bedclothes.

"What is it? What's happened?"

"I've seen something. In a dream."

Susan swung her legs out of bed, her long chestnut hair tumbling around her shoulders. She furrowed her eyebrows at him. That wasn't exactly the answer she had been expecting.

"...A dream?"

"Yes."

"Well...what kind of dream?"

"It was Aslan." Susan's face cleared instantly. They hadn't had a visit from Aslan – corporeal or otherwise- for almost four years.

"Alright," she said quietly. "I suppose we had better wake up the others, then. Do you want to take Ed and Lu, and I'll get Caspian?"

Even in his tired and addled state, Peter still raised an eyebrow. Susan looked at him softly though, and he relented.

"Yes. _Only_ because it's an emergency though," he added. It wasn't exactly proper for Susan to be going into Caspian's room alone at this hour. _Or any hour_, he added in his head.

Susan smiled. Her brothers' over protectiveness could be daunting at times, but she was grateful that even now, as he was clearly occupied with something far greater, he was still looking out for her.

"I'll be discreet," she said, putting on her robe and slippers, and squeezing Peters' arm before they left the room to go opposite directions.

Peter watched her walk down the hall, her slippers making barely any sound on the marble surface. The large windows in the stone walls brought in barely any light – it was winter season in Narnia, and the sun wouldn't rise for another few hours yet. He tilted his head up, looking into the darkness of the vaulted ceilings. _Just like I remember_, he thought to himself. This wasn't exactly the way he had planned on spending his first night in the newly rebuilt Cair Paravel, but he couldn't help thinking it was a sign of some sort. The dream, Aslan, the first night in the new castle...he shook his head and moved along. Muddling about with it all now would do no good. He would wait until they all met and he would sort his thoughts out there.

Peter let himself into Edmund's chamber next and found him already awake, pulling a light grey tunic over his head. He wasn't surprised though – Edmund had always been able to wake up instantly, whether he was sleeping in a warm bed or on a battlefield.

Edmund turned around to look at Peter as he opened the inner door to his rooms. "Something's happened, hasn't it?" he asked.

"Yeah, it has, I think," Peter answered. "How'd you know?"

"Dunno, really. Just woke up and something didn't feel quite the same. You know I can't sleep when you can't sleep," he answered wryly.

"Yeah, I know," Peter answered smiling a bit. "It's Aslan. He was in a dream of mine. He's...I've called us all together," he said, not really being able to put it into words.

Edmund looked down at the ground, thinking. He was silent for a minute, and then looked back up at Peter, nodding his head slowly.

"We knew something was going to happen," he said softly. Peter just nodded his head, and then spoke. "I'm going to get Lu," he said. "Will you...Su's gone to wake up Caspian, and I just thought you would sort of...see everything's in order," he finished.

"Yes, because the state of emergency really _is_ the best time to get your kit off," Edmund answered wryly. He took in Peter's exasperated look and laughed. "Yeah, alright," he said. "I'll go gather the two of them, you get Lucy. The old treasury in 20 ?"

"Yeah," Peter replied, letting Edmund walk out before him, ruffling his hair the way he knew annoyed him as he passed.

"Oh sod off!" Edmund swatted his hands away, but there was a smile on his face.

"You speak to your King that way?" Peter teased, running in the other direction before Edmund could have a word in.

Susan walked down the hallway towards Caspian's chambers. Something was very wrong, or was about to be, that much she knew. She thought fleetingly about her life here in Narnia. How they'd had four years of peace – not without problems, but without war, without disaster, without famine or poverty, without civil strife, without death...well, not without death surely, but without...any of _their_ deaths. Or mortal wounds. That was a big one, especially for Edmund who was always being mortally wounded somehow.

Caspian's room was warm and dark; a foggy, heavy sort of darkness which one tended to wade, rather than walk through. His smell was everywhere – a spicy, earthy smell that seemed to go attach itself to her skin. That, added to the heat in the room from the fire that was still burning a little bit in the corner made for a comfy cozy feeling.

Susan paused a moment, waiting for her eyes to adjust to the darkness. She could see him, sprawled out on the bed, one arm above his head, the other on top of his stomach. He had kicked off the covers in the night, and thrown off his linen night shirt, leaving him in his white linen trousers.

She walked over, careful not to bump into anything, and sat down softly on the edge of the bed, bringing one hand to rest on the other side of his body. She placed her other arm on his bicep, running her thumb along the smooth skin there. He stirred slightly in his sleep, and she gently pushed a lock of dark hair off his forehead.

"Caspian," she said, smiling as he fidgeted, still somewhere in that cloudy state between sleep and wakefulness.

"Caspian," she said again, "wake up". He inhaled deeply, letting the breath out with furrowed eyebrows. He opened his eyes sleepily, blinking as he took in her form on his bed. A smile lazily spread across his face.

"It seems as though I am still dreaming," he said, his voice rough with sleep as hers had been. He moved his hand to circle around her arm, pulling her closer to him.

"Was it a good dream?" Susan teased lightly, bringing the upper half of her body down over his, leaving only a few inches of space between them. His other hand came up to curl around her neck, his thumb tracing her cheekbone.

"When they are of you, they are always good dreams," he answered, pulling her face down to his then, and kissing her lightly, lazily. Susan smiled against his lips, but pulled back when she remembered that this was not the time for kisses, however much she might like it to be.

Caspian's eyebrows furrowed again as he felt her pull away from him. He kept one hand up, tracing his index finger under her eye and across her lower lip. "This is not simply a pleasant surprise, is it," he said softly. Susan kissed the tip of his finger.

"No," she said, "unfortunately not. Peter...he's seen Aslan."

Caspian sat up then. "Here? At the Castle?"

"No, in a dream." Caspian nodded, looking stoic.

"It is serious," he said – not a question, but a statement. Susan nodded.

"Peter thinks so." She watched as Caspian got up off the bed, picked his shirt up off the floor where he had thrown it and pulled it over his head. He grabbed his robe and slipped it over his shoulders, turning back to Susan.

"Where is Peter?"

"He's gone to get Lu. Ed's probably on the way here, to keep an eye on us or some such nonsense," she said, but there was a small smile on her face.

"They mean well, my Queen" Caspian said, grinning as he tipped her face up to his for one more kiss. Pulling away, he kissed her forehead. "Let's go."

Caspian opened the door for Susan and moved to let her walk in front of him. She squeezed his arm once as she stepped into the small hall, her demeanour slowly but surely changing into something more polished, more regal, more stately.

The two young Monarchs kept a respectable distance as they walked, meeting Edmund as they reached the adjoining hallway.

"Morning, you two," he said. "I gather Su's told you, Caspian?" he asked, coming to stand between them as was customary. Caspian answered yes, and they all began to walk once more. Talking softly and in hushed tones, they wound their way into the section of the Cair that was still as it had been all those years ago. Wherever it had been possible, the ruins of the Castle had been kept and integrated into the rebuilding. There was one particularly large section of ruins with floors and walls and staircases still intact, which made up almost a wing of the Castle as it stood now, and was affectionately referred to as 'Old Paravel'. It was through this wing, along little used hallways and under large tapestries, through locked doors and forgotten staircases that they travelled, down deep into the bowels of the castle, where they would come eventually to the old treasury. Peter had decided that this was to be their place for emergencies, this place that held their tombs and their life stories.

As they walked down the last long staircase, Edmund trailed his fingers lightly along the stones, feeling comforted by their continued existence, their refusal to break and fall and shatter when the Castle was taken.

One lone torch burned at the bottom of the stairs, next to a very large and very old wooden door, with gold trim around its edges and a lion's head carved into the surface of the oak. Edmund took up the torch and pulled from around his neck a tarnished gold key, slipping it into the lock. He turned it with a grunt, hearing the lock shift and move beneath the surface.

He felt Susan's hand on his shoulder and he pushed forward, feeling for some reason that once he stepped through, nothing would be the same again.

Peter opened Lucy's door, finding it very cold inside. She had forgotten to close the door to her balcony, and although there was no real wind off the sea at the moment, it was still winter in Narnia which made for a chilly bedfellow.

Lucy's room faced east towards the sea, just as it always had, and it looked the same as it ever did in the old Paravel. In fact, looking around the room now, it was as though Lucy had always lived there, as if she had grown there and played there and learned there. This whole experience, coming back...It was different for Lucy. With all the rest of them there had been an adjustment period, like you get when a cast comes off a broken limb and you have to learn to use it again – the knowledge never goes away, but it's rusty and needs stretching and exercise. But it hadn't been like that with Lucy. She was...it was as though she was a _part_ of Narnia, like the earth or the trees; an organic component of its existence. Peter could remember thinking, during the year they spent at home in England, that Lucy never really _left_ Narnia. That a part of it had stayed with her, more than just a memory; as a living breathing thing that continued to grow, bright inside her heart.

She was attuned to the land in a different, deeper and wilder way than the rest of them were. Peter often thought to himself that maybe Lucy hadn't found Narnia – that maybe it had been the other way around. Maybe Narnia had sought her out. When they went back to England, Lucy never called it home. Her home had always been here, even before she herself had known it. And it was things like that that made Peter really believe in destiny.

He placed his hand on her shoulder, gently shaking it. "Lu," he said softly. She shifted sleepily, turning from her side to look at him.

"Peter," she murmured, a smile with sleep at its edges sweeping across her face. "I had the strangest dream. Everything was covered in sand."

Peter looked at her with concern shining in his eyes. He hadn't ever been able to lie to her.

"I had a dream too, Lu. It was Aslan."

She sat up slowly, leaning on her elbows, an excited gleam in her eye. "Really? What did he say?"

"He...he said that something's coming. I think we're in for something."

Lucy looked out towards the sea, thinking. "Aslan wouldn't lie."

"I know."

"Called a meeting, have you?"

"Yeah, bring your robe; it'll be cold down there, no furnace."

"I know Peter."

"Right, then..." he trailed off, as she got up to fetch her robe. He rested his elbows on his knees as he sat on her bed and rubbed his forehead. He didn't like not knowing things, not being prepared. He felt panicky but excited at the same time and he couldn't get the image of the girl on horseback out of his head. He closed his eyes and concentrated hard on the dream, and knew once and for all it was no ordinary dream. The details of it had stayed vivid in his mind, and he felt as though he was _there_, as if he could feel everything she – whoever she was - felt. The amazing heat all around her (God, the _heat_), the feel of the leather reins in her hands, rough in her palms, the wind whipping her hair, the salt in the ocean air stinging her eyes, the weight of the horse and the muted sound of its hooves as it galloped across the sand..._the sand... 'I had the strangest dream. Everything was covered in sand...'_

Peter threw open his eyes, breathing heavily. He swallowed harshly, feeling his heart beat through every part of his body, hearing the blood thrum through his veins. He felt shaky, disoriented, as if he had dunked his head in cold water. Every time he thought about the dream he seemed to go right _back _there; but that was impossible! Dreams were simply that – just dreams. So then what was _this_? A vision? A premonition of some kind? _Whatever_ it was, he didn't like it. He was glad he had called them altogether.

Suddenly Lucy was right in front of him, her hand shaking his shoulder.

"Are you alright, Peter?" she asked in that melodious voice of hers, concern deeply etched in her features.

Peter swallowed and blinked, looking up at her. "Yeah, I'm fine, Lu. Why?" He asked.

Lucy looked at him then, her older brother. Her strong, capable older brother with his broad shoulders and golden hair. He was a King, but in that moment he seemed to her to be as old as when they first came to Narnia.

"Nothing...you just...you looked shaken, for a moment, I suppose."

"Sorry, I'm just...I'm not sure why but this whole thing has got me all rattled, for some reason. The dream was...not ordinary. I need to talk it out, I suppose. Get it out of my head and onto the table."

"Let's go then," Lucy replied. "The others'll probably be down there by now". He nodded his head yes, and stood. They walked out of the room, Peter noticing for the first time a lyre on the floor.

"Whose lyre was that?" he asked. Lucy didn't play the lyre.

"Oh, I had some of the fauns over and a little one left his there. I just felt like the room needed something really Narnian, you know? It needed something with a little old magic in it." She smiled up at him, an enchanting pixie smile, and the corner of peter's lip turned up.

"Nobody but you, Lu," he said, slipping his arm around her shoulders. Together they walked the path down deep into the castle, finding the torch at the door already gone. Peter pulled his key from around his neck and unlocked the door, pushing at it with his shoulder. It opened, and Edmund, Susan and Caspian's concerned faces looked back at them. The torches around the room had been lit, and their forms cast shadows along the floor.

"Caspian," Peter said, nodding his head and clapping his hand on his shoulder for a moment, in greeting. "Su told you?"

"You had a dream of Aslan, yes? And you believe it to be quite serious."

"Yes," Peter answered, moving into the middle of the room, "that's the gist of it. I mean, no, well, not really. I think you all should sit".

They did so, the five of them, on the dusty floor of the tomb. Peter explained to them the dream, going over it with as much detail as possible. He spoke of the girl, and the way that he seemed to be transported right to wherever she was, the way he could _feel_ the overwhelming heat and the sand in his eyes, and the beating of the horse's hooves. He spoke of how fearful he could tell she was, and he spoke of Aslan's voice, how it seemed to permeate his very _being_ and knock him back into reality; how he felt that the warning could only be in relation to one thing.

"He said, _'It has begun,'_" Peter finished. "I just...I'm not really sure what to say about it other than I felt like I was _there_, and I mean right _there_ with this girl, whoever she was. Like everything happening to _her_ was happening to _me_, and that she's _important_ somehow...it was all very ominous, to tell you the truth."

"You couldn't see her face?" Edmund asked.

"No, only her hair, and the horse, and –" he stopped for a minute, "- and the sand. Lucy dreamed of sand last night, too."

"Well, alright, hold on," Susan said, interrupting Peters' train of thought. "Let's not get ahead of ourselves here. I think...I think it's important that we sort of say what it is we've all agreed on apparently. Are we all saying that we believe this girl to be _real_? Because if we are, if that's what we're saying, then we have to consider the greater implications behind all this. We all remember what Aslan said - that sometime soon we were going to have to face a great danger - and now he's in your dream, Peter, and we have to seriously wonder about whether this girl is a _threat_ or not, and about the safety of the people. Do we post scouts? Look outs?"

Edmund nodded, "I agree. I think the fact that Aslan was there, and how much you remember...it sounded sort of like some kind of _vision_. And just because you only saw the girl, doesn't mean she's _all_ there is...there could be more riders. We need to be prepared here."

"This is true," Caspian added. "And I think we all have a suspicion of where this girl is coming from, do we not?" He said, looking around at the faces of the other four. "This woman, she was traveling along a sandy path, next to an ocean, correct?" Peter nodded his head. "So she must be somewhere along the Eastern shore. And you described the heat, in the air, which means that wherever she was, it was not the winter season. And to add to that, you described her horse - a white stallion. We have no naturally bred white horses in Narnia; all the native breeds here are black, or brown, or red. The only place that they are found is-"

"-Calormen," Susan finished.

They were all silent then, until Lucy spoke. "Alright. I agree with what you're all saying. But I don't think this girl is a threat to us though. Peter said he felt fear, as if she was running from something. And I don't think Aslan would let Peter feel all of that if she weren't..._connected_ to _Him_ too, somehow. Maybe she needs our help."

Edmund spoke next. "But I think, if what Caspian's saying is true, which, I think we can all agree seems likely, we need to start some communication with Anvard, letting them know we think something might be up. Very hush, no panic. Just to watch their borders, keep their ears open. We might want to ask the eagles, and watch for Glenstorm. He's been reporting some interesting activity with the constellations recently...the centaurs are nervous. If what we're thinking is true, he'll have something to say about it."

Peter nodded. "I know that our relations with Calormen haven't always been..._peaceful_," he said, to which Edmund smirked. "And I know it's not right to suspect them based on prior actions alone, but...I think Caspian's right. They just celebrated the ascension of their new Tisroc, too, just recently. I mean, it's all too much of a coincidence. Cair Paravel being finished, their new leader coming into power formally...what's his name, again?"

"Rabadash the second, coincidentally," Edmund answered lazily, looking over at Susan. "What's in a name, eh?"

"Only the second?" she asked.

"Well, it's not exactly a name that denotes power and authority, is it?" Susan smiled at the comment.

"No, it's not. Just a lack of common sense."

"Maybe this one's trying to change that. You know how those Calormene's are- no, I know Peter, I'm just saying. You know what they think of us."

Caspian rested his back against the wall, his knees up. "If they are planning something, we must be careful," he said. "Any move from us that can be spun to look like aggressive behaviour will allow them to justify their actions. If this Rabadash the second _is_ trying to assert himself, then we cannot give him any reason to do so."

"Yes," Lucy said. "We have to be careful. But even though this seems really urgent right now, let's all take a step back. Let's not rush into anything until we _actually_ hear news about Calormen, or about the girl, whoever she is. We've had word from Aslan. He has a plan for us, here. We have to believe we have the strength to get through this, whatever it is. We've had a lovely four years here, don't you think? It's been peaceful and wonderful. Now something like this comes along and people start to change, start to panic. Let's do what we used to. Let's all agree right now to be open and honest with each other. Not to let it divide us. Let's resolve to always trust in Aslan, no matter how hopeless something might seem. And to trust in ourselves, too. We're in this together. We're always going to stand by each other."

They all looked to Lucy, who slid forward and placed her hand on the engraving of Aslan's face in the middle of the stone floor.

"I pledge," she said. Susan was next, then Edmund. Caspian too, and lastly Peter. "I pledge," they all repeated. The five young monarchs sat quietly, on the stone floor, looking at the image of the Great Lion. After awhile, they got up, one by one, saying their good nights', heading off to get a few more hours sleep before the day began. Lucy went first, then Edmund, Susan and Caspian next, and Peter, last. He ran his hand once more across the carving in the floor, and looked up to the high stone ceiling. He knew Lucy was right, that Aslan was watching and listening.

"I know you know what you're doing," he spoke quietly. "Help me be strong." He felt a little foolish – not for speaking to Aslan, never for that, but for the fact that all he'd had was a _dream_, and here they were making plans for worst case scenarios. Deep down he knew though, that something _had_ begun...and the feeling in his gut said war. As he stood to walk out, he felt a curious breeze against the back of his neck, and smelled in the air a sweet smell. He turned around suddenly, eyes wide, looking for Him, but there were only shadows from the last torch on the wall. He glanced around the chamber for a minute more, then turned back to the door and grabbed the torch, ready to leave.

It was then he heard it, a voice which was so deep and full of magic it was hardly a voice and more of a feeling, and it seemed to whisper along his neck and straight into his heart.

"_You already are._"

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	4. Three: The Mountain

**Chapter three:**

**The Mountain**

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Aara looked down at her hands. Her knuckles were almost completely raw, and dry cracked skin surrounded them. She flexed them experimentally and winced at the feeling.

She had been traveling for days now, and although she had lost real count Aara figured that it had been about a week. After countless hours of walking and almost no sleep in the fog filled mountains, the hours seemed to melt into each other, taking away all sense of time.

She had left Tashbaan in the middle of the night, and it had taken her a full day to get to the Winding Arrow River. That had been the most important thing. The obstacle that separated Archenland and Calormen was the great desert – thousands and thousands of miles of flat terrain, stretching out as far as the eye could see. But just on the other side of the river, the mountain range began. The mountains would hide her tracks and her scent and they would offer crags and crevices for hiding spots.

Getting to the mountain had been easy enough, if not nerve-wracking; knowing that every time she slowed down the soldiers behind her stood a chance of seeing her out in the open. But getting _through_ the mountains...this was proving more difficult than she could have imagined.

Yes, they offered plentiful hiding spots, but what they did _not_ seem to offer was a clear path through. Aara had never been to Archenland. She had imagined plenty of mountain dwelling folk to shelter her or at least offer direction, and a winding but accessible road to the other side. But there were none of those things. There had been only the echo of Abyad's hooves on the rocks and the chill of the wind and _snow_ - for the first time in her life- through the peaks around her. The way had been difficult and horribly long. She had fallen quite a few times, stumbled while leading Abyad through narrow passes on foot, and had found herself going in circles more than once. She had cuts and bruises all over, and a gash on her forehead from where she had tripped and fallen off the edge of a slope, onto another piece of rock below. The drop had not been high, but her head had hit the ground first. She ached everywhere, and she was thirsty all the time. She actually _had_ cried when they discovered a small mountain spring flowing with clean cool water and with edible grasses and plants around it. She had loaded up her pack with as much as she could, saving the flat bread and cheese she had brought with her from home for when she was truly desperate.

She felt infinitely foolish for ever thinking this would be easy. What did she know? In Calormen she had been a Tarkheena. She had never needed to do any strenuous exercise beyond that which was recreational. She did not have to work for a living planting or building or fishing, and her daily walks were through her family's beautiful, spacious and flat courtyard. She had never known what it was like to go to sleep hungry, or to have to walk miles while tired and sore in the pouring rain. She felt as though before this climb she had been living a life of infancy. The mountains with their ever higher peaks to climb ensured that her legs were constantly cramped, and the pain in the morning of having to mount Abyad day after day had been staggering, at first. She was always on the lookout for rockslides, which she found were plentiful, although most of the time they were small. Animals too, she heard in the night, and a scavenging cat or some such animal had made off with about half her bread the first night. She was glad for the extra fabric she had purchased, and even for the crude canvas sheet she had brought with her off the streets in Tashbaan, because the weather was certainly not the balmy breezes of her home city. No, the wind was harsh and bitterly cold, and her only refuge had been small caves to sleep in at night – she could not afford to stop anytime else, except for small respites.

Sleep itself had been no comfort though. Whereas before she had dreamt the same dream every night, the first night that she slept in the mountains the dream changed. She still saw the lion, and the castle by the sea; the lush green forests and rivers and snow, but she also saw visions of home. She saw a great army, marching along the desert pass. Then she saw the mountains, full of fire. _Was this the future?_ She prayed to Tash for answers, but found neither those nor comfort. It was as though he could not reach her here, deep in these unfamiliar mountains full of clouds and rain. She continued to dream of the mountains full of fire, and she would wake up sweating and feverish, expecting to see flames licking at her skin. And when she tried to go back to sleep, the only thing she could think of was home.

She missed her family terribly. She had thought she had been homesick in the palace, but that was nothing compared to now. Then, at least, she knew they were safe. Now...there was no telling what might have been done to them since she left. Her mother and father, her dear sister Aliyah and her brother Nasir. The Tisroc would go to them for information, this she knew. Had they been imprisoned? Taken and questioned on her whereabouts like common criminals? Maybe not her parents or her sister, but her brother...he was on shaky ground as it was. Being of the noble class, Nasir was one of the Tisroc's councilmen. He would tell her nothing about it, but before she had left to live at the Palace she knew he had been having secret meetings in the night with other councilmen, rich traders and common people alike. He was no fan of their newest Tisroc, not only because of his manner and policies, but also because of the suspicious death of the previous Tisroc, and the mysterious disappearance of councilman Abara. Died in the night of old age, the doctors had said. Taking a holiday, the guards said. _More like poisoned and killed_ Nasir had told her. _Someone needs to stand up for the people, Aara. The laws he wishes to pass, and the taxes he proposes would make half the lower classes absolutely destitute. Do they not suffer enough? Someone must stand and draw the line, _he had said.

Horrible nightmares of him being tortured or killed haunted her alongside the dreams. She wondered if she would ever see her family again, if she would ever go home again. The mountains seemed to have taken a part of her spirit. She traveled through them like a ghost, half dead and half alive, constantly looking over her shoulder. Visions of the Tisroc's soldiers haunted her during the day, and everywhere she looked she seemed to see them; above her and below her, in front of her and behind her. There was nowhere she was safe. She wondered if she was doomed to spend the rest of her life in these Tash forsaken mountains, wandering alone forever.

On what was the seventh night, Aara dreamt again a new dream. The lion came to her in a way that felt more real than ever before, as though he were in front of her and all around her. He repeated his message. _Go north, with a warning_. Aara woke up with tears streaming down her face. She could not remember much of the dream itself, only feelings, emotions. She felt as though she had forsaken something, though she knew not what. Her faith, perhaps. She had let herself become absorbed in the misery of her situation, forgetting the importance of her true goal, forgetting that belief in Tash made all possible, and that only through Him would she be able to flourish. The poet was assuredly right when he had said, "To lose one's goal is to lose one's way." Aara had lost her way - but she was intent on finding it again.

And so on that day, the eighth day, Aara picked up her pack and took out her sewing needles and a small knife, and all the fabric she still had in her pack. She sewed together a large hooded cape for herself, with sleeves and a long back and front with slits up the sides so she could ride. She made the back and front double thick, with the thick Canvas on top. She kept the front open to the chest, so she could wear the left over fabric as a scarf. It looked strange and ugly, but it was comfortable enough to wear and she could ride in it, and it was much warmer than trying to keep all her fabric wrapped around her at once. Then she took out the herbs that she had brought from Calormen, and began to crush them and use them, as a salve for her wounds and in her water for energy. She brushed Abyad as vigorously as her sore arms would allow, and mounted him feeling more like herself than she had in days.

She was not a soldier. She could not wield a weapon, or take a life with grace. She was not the bravest woman to have ever lived, nor was she the strongest. But she could do this. She could ride well and fast. She could find herbs and spices and know their uses to help her along her journey, to heal her wounds and make her strong and energized. She could keep going. She could persevere.

And when that same day she rode Abyad up the slope of a cresting ridge, she saw beneath her not higher mountains but lower ones. And to her right was not another towering mountainside, but the sea; the shimmering, shining sea in all its glory. And before her?

Before her she saw more snow than she had ever thought possible, spread out across the land like an enormous blanket of white. She saw whole forests of trees she had never before seen, gigantic deep lush green trees! She saw a great bay, which she knew to be Glasswater. And in that moment Aara knew that she had made it out of the unforgiving landscape of Archenland, and that all before her was Narnia. She understood, standing on top of that highest peak, that to go forward meant no turning back. She could have relented before; given it all up and returned home, never to share her warning. And she _had_ considered it, when the winds had been relentless and the cold had been more than she could bear, and there seemed no way forward but to double back and try again. But she realized now that those thoughts...they did not mean she was a coward. They meant that she was human. And the fact that she had made it through meant that she had been brave, and courageous.

Aara turned Abyad around, and looked back at the mountain she had conquered. It towered up before her, and she found herself smiling, a full real smile that stretched all the way across her face. She laughed aloud - she had done it! She, who had never done anything in her life, had crossed a mountain, and survived – bloody and hungry and tired and sore and utterly exhausted but not broken- and found out the true measure of her strength. If she did not make it through this alive, she thought, and there was a very real possibility that that would be so, at least she had done this. At least she had made it this far.

She spared one last glance at the mountain that she thought had stolen her spirit, and realized that it hadn't been stolen. It had only been hardened, made stronger.

And with that, she spurred Abyad forward, away from the mountain and down into the whole wide world that in this instant seemed to stretch out before her forever.

Not too far behind, a dark man looked out from across a mountain gorge, watching as a lone white horse galloped down the ridge into the neighboring country. The dark man cared nothing for the girl - his master had bid him bring her back dead _or_ alive. But what reason would she have for crossing into the mountains, and into Narnia? The situation had quickly become more interesting than it had first appeared.

As the dark man led his horse down the same path the girl had followed, he whistled sharply once. A group of soldiers, twenty in all, slowly appeared from the depths of the mountains and began the descent behind him.

Yes, the dark man thought. This was interesting indeed.

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	5. Four: The Seventh Night

**Chapter four:**

**The Seventh Night**

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The room was still dark when Edmund woke up. He sat up, turning his head to the window to see the night sky staring back at him, and then flopped back down on the bed with a deep sigh.

_And so it begins again, _he thought.

Edmund threw on a shirt, donned his slippers, and walked down the hall to Peter's rooms just as he had done the past six nights, where upon entering he would find him in a deep and troubled sleep. Peter was dreaming, but they were not _his_ dreams. Ever since that first night a week ago, Peter had continued to receive visions of the girl on horseback. But she was no longer in the desert - no, she was _moving_, crossing the border in real time and traveling through the mountains. The probability that this girl was real was becoming harder and harder to ignore. And the dreams were taking more and more of a toll on Peter - not only mentally but also physically.

When he was dreaming his body would move on its own - sometimes he would be curled up in a ball, his knees pulled up to his chest, his fingers clenched so tightly that his knuckles were white. Other times he lay sprawled out, his head tossing and turning, muttering and groaning under his breath the whole time. He was always feverish, sweat lining his forehead and his chest, but he acted as though he were freezing cold. His teeth would chatter and the blankets of his bed would be pulled all the way around him. He would moan and cry out, his brow furrowed terribly, his head moving from side to side and his eyes moving underneath his eyelids rapidly. He would seize sometimes as well, and the tremors would continue for an hour or two each time, before finally stopping. The second night, Peter had curled his nails so forcefully into his palm during the seizing that he had cut straight through the skin there, his short nails covered in blood. The third night – or was it the fourth? Peter had held his head in his hands as if he'd been struck, and in a total sleepwalking haze had fallen off the bed and _actually_ hit his head on the night stand, creating a lovely bruise. But the most disconcerting thing was the _fear _Edmund saw on Peter's face each night, the absolute terror in his sounds and movements... he had never seen Peter like that in his life. What was happening to this girl that made her so afraid?

He didn't have any answers, and neither did Peter. All Edmund could do was go to Peter's room, and try and sit with him through the ordeals. He would go to the wash basin and fill it with cool water, and bring it over to the bedside. He would climb on top of the bed and sit with Peter's form laying half on top of him, his head on his shoulder. He would run the cloth over his forehead and down his chest, and knead his fingers until the muscles in his palms were so malleable that they would no longer clench together, and the muscles in his back until he would lie straight. And he would keep his arms around him, hoping that somehow the feeling of his arm around his shoulders, and his hand sweeping back his wet hair might ground him to reality, might stop him from being swept away so violently. Praying to Aslan for an explanation to these night terrors; praying that they would stop _soon_.

After the first night, Edmund realized that he would not be able to wake Peter – he had tried absolutely everything, but it seemed as though Peter was simply a passenger on the ride, and would only be let off when it was good and finished.

And so he would stay awake with Peter until he woke, his body arching, his eyes flying open and his lungs gasping for breath as the dream let go its hold. He would always struggle against him, fighting him, not seeming to know where he was.

"It's me, Pete," he would say. "Peter it's _me_. It's alright. Don't fight me, it's _me_, it's _Ed_."

And Peter would hear his voice and come crashing back down to reality, with different results each time. One night he had dissolved into another terrible migraine. Another night he had immediately retched over the side of the bed, his body convulsing with dry heaves as Edmund stroked the hair off his forehead and kept a steady hand at his back. The rest of the nights though, he asked for coffee – _strong, black_- immediately.

Peter said it was so that he could tell him everything that had happened in the dream right away, without forgetting anything, but Edmund knew him better than that, and he knew when he was afraid. Whatever was happening to this girl, whatever she was feeling, Peter was feeling it too, seeing it too, experiencing it too. He was actually _living_ the dreams, going through them as though the events were actually _happening_ to him. He was completely beyond control. And if there was one thing Peter needed, it was to feel in control.

After the dreams, Peter would tell him the things he saw, the things he had learned. It was sort of unspoken between the four of them that Edmund would handle Peter during the night, unless it got quite serious of course. They all knew that Peter wouldn't want them to see him weak, as silly as that was, and they knew Edmund's relationship with him was best suited to it. Peter would go over the dream with them the next morning, and then at least three of the five monarchs would actually get some decent sleep.

The girl, whoever she was, was travelling across a mountain range. If she was real, as they believed her to be, the probability was that she was crossing the Archlandian mountain range, heading north, into Narnia. That explained a lot too, because the crossing of those mountains was certainly not for the faint hearted or feeble bodied.

Peter told him that in the dreams, it was as though they were a single person...he and this girl. That he could feel the cold all around him, could feel the wind biting at his cheeks, could feel all of her bruises and cuts and wounds and aches, her hunger and her thirst. That he could feel a sense of urgency...he couldn't explain it really, but everything was done hurriedly, as if she were being followed, which was also a definite possibility. And that he was afraid, without knowing why.

Every night the dreams had gotten more and more intense, and last night had been the worst yet. Peter's fever had been so high Edmund had actually made the guard get Lucy and the Doctor, thinking that if it didn't break soon they would be in dire need of her cordial. Thankfully the dream ended and it did break, and he sent Lucy back to bed with the promise that he'd send for her again if the situation got any worse.

So as Edmund pulled open the door of Peter's rooms on this, the seventh night, he braced himself for what he was sure was going to be a harrowing experience for all involved – Peter especially so, who hadn't had a decent nights' sleep - _or any sleep, really_, for a week now, and went through each day in a state of utter exhaustion.

But as he walked into Peter's room, he wasn't quite prepared for what he saw.

Peter was lying prone on the bed, stretched out and not curled up or thrashing like he usually was, and he was...

_Crying?_

Edmunds' eyes were wide and disbelieving as he crossed the length of the room to the bed, where he had set the washbasin already at the side. He sat down and felt Peters' forehead, but found there to be no fever. Confused, he ran his eyes down his body, checking for spasms or muscle cramps, especially in his arms, but there were none of those either. In fact, if he hadn't been crying, he would have looked positively relaxed.

It was then that Edmund noticed the time was different – usually he woke up around one, and the dreams lasted until about five. Tonight though, or rather, this morning, Edmund saw that it was already five thirty. The winter season meant that the sun wouldn't rise for another hour or so, and Edmund had just assumed it to be earlier. What did this mean? Well for one, it meant Peter had finally gotten a decent night's rest. That at least, was a relief. Peter with no sleep was also Peter with a short temper - which was understandable of course, but no less harrowing at times. Edmund reached up with one hand and scratched his head. For the life of him he couldn't figure out what was going on!

So he simply sat there, on the edge of the bed, waiting.

And ten minutes later, Peter woke up.

No fighting, no thrashing about, nothing. He simply opened his eyes, and woke up.

Edmund leaned over him, placing his hand on his arm. "...Peter?" he asked softly, almost whispering.

Peter seemed to snap out of his haze at the sound of Edmund's voice, and breathed in heavily, his eyes blinking back tears.

"Yeah. Yeah, I'm alright," he rushed out, seemingly disbelieving of it. "What time is it?" He asked.

Edmund looked back at the ornate clock in the room. "half past five, just about. What's happened?"

Peter moved to sit up, resting his elbows on his knees and running his hands over his face. "I'm...I'm not quite sure, actually. It was..._weird_, Ed. Different from all the others," he finished quietly, a frown on his face as he tried to work out whatever it was that he had seen. Edmund sat quietly with him, waiting for him to speak.

"Before it was always like I was feeling and doing everything she was, like some kind of shared hallucination. This time it was..." he trailed off again, shaking his head, not knowing how really to describe it.

"She was..._dreaming_, I think. I felt like I was there, _while _she was dreaming. I couldn't see really what she was dreaming about, but I know Aslan was there, talking to her." Edmund's eyebrows shot up. "But she didn't know...I don't think she knew who or what he _was_, really. But it was very..._calming_ though. She was sad, but...it was alright, somehow. It seemed peaceful. I think it's a good sign, sort of. I think she must be alright. And I think she's out of those mountains now, too."

"Why d'you think that?"

"I've got no idea. Honestly, it's just this feeling I have. I mean, I saw the cave she was in, but I'm almost positive she's close to the border, or she's crossed it. It just seemed like...such a clear break from before, that I figure she must have crossed _something_ to make a change."

"Well...alright then, let's say, _hypothetically,_" Edmund said, which earned a glare from Peter, "that she's out of the mountains. That would mean she's-"

"-In Narnia. Exactly. It just seemed very...final, somehow. I don't think I'm going to be having any more of these night terrors."

"Oh really?" Edmund asked, aware of Peter's tendency to over exaggerate how 'fine' he was. "And why exactly would you say that?" He thought Peter might get annoyed, but he just looked at him and smiled, and laughed a little.

"I just know," he said. "It _feels_ different...something's changed, that's all. It's my gut feeling - will that satisfy you? " Edmund looked at him then, really looked at him. He _looked_ different, to be sure, than he had looked the past week. His face wasn't so ashen, and his eyes were bright. He wasn't in any pain, and he was alert, as well. So he nodded his head slowly, agreeing.

"Alright," he said, then quickly changing from the role of concerned brother to that of concerned King. "Then this changes things a bit, doesn't it? We'll have to see what information Trumpkin and Glenstorm and Farsight bring back...see if they've got any new developments on their ends as well," he finished, referring to the advisors and military commanders that they had sent to gather information. Trumpkin had gone to King Donar to let him know of their situation, and to see if he himself had noted any strange activity within his mountainous borders. Glenstorm had gone with the other Centaurs to interpret some pressing changes in the stars. And Air Marshall Farsight had been sent on a surveillance detail with his best Eagles, to determine for themselves any suspicious activity in close Calormen territory. But none of them would return until tomorrow, so until then they were stuck with simply speculating.

"So then...what now?" Edmund continued, thinking aloud. "Even if she's in Narnia, we don't know _where_. Which is sort of a problem considering how the country is decidedly massive," he added sardonically. "It'll take her at _least_ a days' ride to get from the border to Glasswater, and another half a day to the Cair...that is, if that's even where she's headed."

"She'll come to us. We just have to...wait," Peter said confidently. He couldn't shake the feeling that she'd find them. It was like a beacon in his brain, pointing him always to the same conclusion. His siblings might have had their doubts, but there was none in Peter's mind. He didn't know when, but she _was _coming. Why else would he have been having these visions of her? Why else would Aslan be sending her to Narnia?

"Well perfect, we know that's always been your strong point," Edmund joked dryly, and Peter knew that Edmund believed him that he was fine, because Edmund never joked when things were very bad.

"It's good to hear that, you know," Peter said.

"What?"

"Your comedic timing," he finished dryly, arching his eyebrow at his little brother. "You've been right serious these past few days. I've just been worried."

Edmund looked at him in disbelief, and let out an incredulous laugh. "_You_ were worried about _me_?" he asked, his voice raising in pitch slightly. "Pete, you haven't_ slept_ in _days. _The only thing keeping you _alive_ right now is coffee and sheer _will_. You wake up every night with a fever higher than I've ever seen, with wounds that aren't actually there, from being somehow attuned to the actions of a girl who may or may not even be real," he said, even though he was embellishing that last part and Peter knew it. "And _you're_ worried about _me_."

Peter looked at him softly, and he spoke quietly. "I'll always worry about you, Ed." Edmund waited a moment and then let his breath loose, his shoulders slumping a bit. He returned his brother's soft look. "I know."

Peter clasped his hand around Edmund's forearm. "You've been a terrific help, Ed. Honestly. I don't know what I would've done without you. You've been much better with me than I ever was with you."

Edmund gave Peter a wry look. "Oh, I don't know about that," he said, the corners of his lips turning up into a soft smile. "I think you did a pretty good job."

"_I'm_ the one that's supposed to take care of _you_," Peter said quietly, making Edmund smile with the familiar and oft used phrase. But then Edmund's face turned serious.

"You do take care of me, Peter." He said, his voice suddenly thick with emotion. "You've taken care of me by letting me _help_ you. I'll always need to take care of you, just like you'll always need to take care of me."

"Brothers in arms," Peter whispered, his eyes almost closed and his body already lying back on the bed, his voice so soft it was barely more than a mouthing of words.

"Always." Edmund whispered back.

Edmund remembered their pledge, last week in the tomb. _Let's all agree right now to be open and honest with each other. Not to let it divide us. Let's resolve to always trust in Aslan, no matter how hopeless something might seem. And to trust in ourselves, too. We're in this together. We're always going to stand by each other. _Lucy always knew, he thought. He'd have to go up to her and give her a great big hug and kiss for reminding them all, and he'd do it right in front of her ladies too so that they were properly scandalized.

"What're you thinking about?" Peter asked sleepily, the words slurring together in his tiredness.

"Just what Lucy said the other day. About our pledge, d'you remember?"

Peter was quiet for a moment, allowing himself to wake up a bit before he spoke. "Yeah, I do," he finally got out. "You know, I thought I felt Aslan down there, before I left. I asked him to help me be strong."

"You already are, Pete." Edmund said, and Peter smiled, his eyes closing again.

"That's what he said," he managed to whisper out.

"See, I'm always telling you to listen to me, and you never do."

Edmund's jibe roused him, and he let out a laugh –a tired one, but a laugh nonetheless. "That's bollocks and you know it. I'm always listening to you go on and on and on, about what- ancient runes, or whatever's caught your interest."

"That's _Lucy_ who's on about runes right now, actually. I'm usually more concerned with keeping your parliament in order and your western border protected, or some such nonsense," Edmund replied drolly, with a smile in his eyes.

"Touché," Peter said, laughing softly again.

Edmund began to speak again, only to be caught by a vicious yawn, which in turn made Peter yawn as well.

'I'd best get back to sleep, then," Edmund said. "It's Sunday today. We haven't got anything till one-ish, I think. Well, _I_ haven't got anything till one, at least. Can't say the same for you or Caspian."

"No, I haven't got anything either. Thank Aslan too, I feel like I could sleep for a week," Peter let out, each word coming slower than the last.

"Or at least until noon," Edmund said.

"Or at least until noon" Peter agreed. He shifted back under the covers and to the side, lifting up the other side of the blanket. "come on then," he said.

"I've a perfectly good bed down the hall, you know," Edmund said, although really he was touched. He and Peter would often end up sleeping in the same room together back when they were in Narnia the first time. Peter knew he was just being tetchy.

"Yes but it's all cold now. Plus it hasn't got me in it to protect you from the monsters in your closet," Peter answered, as Edmund crawled underneath the covers on the other side.

"The only monsters in my closet are those horrible orange tight things that the ambassador from Galma gave you last year that you _threw_ in there." Edmund shot back.

"Well, s'all the same anyways," Peter drawled, his mouth stumbling around the words as sleep finally began to grasp him.

And just before they both lost themselves to dreamless slumbers, they both edged closer to each other, finding comfort in the warmth and familiar form of a brother who would go to the ends of the earth – or at least to the wee hours of the morning – to make sure the other was alright.

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reviews are lovely!


	6. Five: The Storm, the Storm

**Chapter Five:**

**The Storm, the Storm**

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Peter woke up to the harsh sound of a curtain being drawn, a blinding light from the now opened window, and a cheerful voice.

"Well good _morning_ Your Majesties!" the voice said, with a particularly eccentric accent that pronounced 'morning' more like '_moah_ning'. Peter rolled onto his back and let out a long groan.

"It is simply _wonderful_ to have the _pleashaahh_ of waking you in the _moahning_ once _moah_, _siahh_," it continued happily, and Peter heard the distinct sound of clothes being pulled out and water being drawn. He groaned again. "For the love of _Aslan_," he said, eyes still closed, "what _time_ is it?"

"It is currently eleven thirty in the _moahning_ my liege," the voice continued, and Peter finally opened his eyes to see his personal attendant Picard hovering over him – along with all the rest of his attendant staff.

Peter let out a long suffering sigh. "That's practically blasphemy Picard. I haven't slept in six days, you know. All of you out, leave my brother and I to some peace!" he finished, trying to sound commanding, but it seemed Picard was having none of that.

"We are terrifically dramatic this morning aren't we _siahh_?" Picard answered, as the covers were snatched off them. Peter took his pillow out from under him and smashed it on top of his face in response. "Now _now_ yoah Grace," Picard tisked, "let's not begin our moahning in a _tempah_, hmm? You have slept in _dreadfully_ late as it is, as per my instruction, but I feah it is time for the day to claim you."

"I am a King," Peter began, "and you must all do as I command."

"Yes, of _course_ siahh," Picard answered, still going about his business. Edmund, who had actually been awake this whole time couldn't help but begin to laugh at the situation.

"And what exactly is so funny, Ed?" Peter asked, turning his head to face him.

"Look who has _finally_ joined us in the land of the living," Picard said to him, "and a good _moahning_ to you _Master_ Edmund," he finished.

"I trust yoah spirits are in considerably _bettah_ shape than yoah _brothahh's_ this _fine_ day," he said, picking the pillow up off Peter's face with just the tip of his thumb and index finger, and handing it over to another servant.

"Yes, I believe they are, Picard," Edmund said, rubbing his face his with hand and smiling. Peter looked absolutely scandalized as he no longer had his blanket, _or_ his pillow.

"What is going _on_ here?" he asked out loud, although none of his servants were paying him any mind. "I haven't _slept_ in six days!" he cried out amidst the hustle and bustle of the room, causing Edmund to laugh even harder.

"Better give up Pete," Edmund said, still laughing. "I don't think anyone here cares."

"Oh we _do_ care, my liege, we _do_," Picard started again, as a small wash basin filled with lemon scented water was brought over to the bedside. "You must know I am _infinitely_ grateful to resume my task of readying you for your _moahning_ activities Your Grace. Waking you is one of my _highest_ pleashaahh's." This made Edmund laugh even more, while Peter simply grumbled.

"We _have_ had a _scandalous_ sleep in this morning, as you may plainly see," Picard started again, referring to the fact that ten thirty _was_ much later than they usually all got up for the day. "However we must not allow ourselves to fall into the habits of laziness," he finished cheerfully.

"I HAVEN'T SLEPT IN SIX DAYS!" Peter cried out once more. "Aren't any of you listening? This is blasphemy! Treason, I say!" he was smiling though, and laughing a bit, not actually upset at all. Picard was a wonderfully odd sort of fellow, and had an altogether hilarious relationship with Peter, Edmund thought. As his personal attendant, he was responsible for the maintenance of Peter's rooms and his waking, washing and dressing. Peter was often groggy and bitingly sarcastic in the mornings – enough to rival his own sarcasm, Edmund often thought- but Picard was completely un-phased by it and seemed to just brush off what Peter ordered, going on about with his own agenda to have Peter ready and looking every part the King he was by whatever time was necessary.

But he was also a great friend to Peter, this Edmund knew – he knew how to handle him. Even right now as he was getting them up and ready, he wasn't making a huge fuss over Peter's recent lack of sleep or his apparent miraculous recovery last night; he let Peter do all the talking about it himself.

"And I'll have you know, _Master_ Edmund, that poor Mathilde was frightened beyond her _wildest_ dreams when she came to wake you this moahning, only to discover you were else_where_," Picard said as they both washed their faces and hands in the basins. Mathilde was his own Personal Attendant – a great, jolly old woman whom he loved dearly. "And I _myself_ was properly _scandalized_ to see you both in here like _children_, _certainly _not the way Kings should conduct themselves..." he went on, throwing his hands up, and Peter let out a bark of laughter.

"Oh for the love of- calm yourself _down_ Picard!" He said, while Picard continued his long suffering speech. "...absolutely _no_ respect for the rules of the court, I've failed you _terribly _as an attendant..." Peter let out a long laugh, falling backwards onto the bed. Edmund looked up at Picard who was looking at Peter with wry humour and relief.

"Come on Pete," Edmund said, patting his chest twice. "Let's not drive Picard into an early grave, how's about?"

"I am positively _doomed_ to such a fate _Yoah_ Grace. I had thought to have seen it all until taking charge of this _ruffian_..." Picard answered, which only made Peter laugh harder. Eventually though, he calmed down.

"Alright, alright," he said breathlessly, holding onto his stomach. "I'm up!"

"Thank _Aslan_ for that young Siah; I had thought this moahning to be a lost _cause_," Picard said, motioning for Peter to get up off the bed. Peter looked back to Edmund and rolled his eyes.

"I am neither old, nor _blind_, Majesty, and I simply will not tolerate this level of disres_pect..._" Picard went on, fussing over Peter.

"Stop fussing over me man, and let me go to eat my breakfast!"

"In yoah _nightclothes_?" Picard said, aghast. "I'd raathah you went out in nothing at _all_ for the rumpled way you look in them, like some kind of _sailahh _for all that's holy..." Peter laughed again, a loud, bright sound.

Just then Mathilde came storming into Peter's chambers. "I beggin' your pardon Your Grace," she said, curtseying slightly and speaking to Peter.

"Hello Matty," he said, just before Picard, who was trying to comb his hair, snagged a knot.

"OW! For the _love_ of – Just give it to me Picard, let me do it myself!"

"With all due respect _siahh_, your skill with a comb is considerably _lessahh _than yoah skill with a _sword_."

Peter took a big breath in and held it for a minute, before turning back to Matty with a raised eyebrow and a wry look, as if saying 'continue'. "I've come to claim His Majesty, if it pleases you," she said, looking over to Edmund.

"What about if it pleases me?" Edmund asked from his spot on the bed, where he was currently popping grapes into his mouth from a bowl taken from a now blushing Telmarine servant girl.

"I'll have none of your lip today sire, givin' me a right shock this mornin', thinkin' you was taken or 'napped in the night, as it were!" she cried out, her Galman accent and speech peculiarities in full force from her exasperation.

Edmund looked over at Peter who gave him a _'well, what're you going to do?' _sort of look, and turned back to Matty.

"Err...sorry about that Matty. Won't happen again," he said sheepishly.

"I'm sure it _won't_ happen again!" She said, her hands on her hips. "Now you best be comin' along then, Their Majesties Caspian and the ladies both are already eatin' their brunches in the solar, waitin' for ye!"

Peter smirked, and Edmund handed back the now finished bowl of grapes to the same serving girl, whose bodice was cut _quite_ indecently, even _he_ had to admit. He smiled at her, and said a quiet 'thank you', when Matty spoke again.

"And I'll not have ye flirtin' shamelessly with the serving girls, Your Grace! Should be _ashamed_ of yourself, behavin' like that! And you girl! You best be fixin' that bodice, I can see all the way through to your naval, just about! _Shameful_, today's youth are!"

Edmund's mouth dropped open. "What! I wasn't-"

"I told you I'd take none of yer lip today Sire, an' I meant every _word_, so's you know!" She said from the doorway. Edmund picked himself up off the bed, smiling at the serving girl once more before jogging to the door, kissing Matty on the cheek as he passed her to leave.

Matty sputtered behind him. "_Honestly _Your Grace! You'll make me just die of embarrassment, don't you know it..." she said, fanning her flaming cheeks and following him down the hall.

Peter laughed again and he realized that his cheeks hurt from it – he felt like he hadn't done it in a while. He let Picard dress him and fuss some more before he left his rooms, standing in the hall to wait for Edmund. As he did so, he thought some more about the dream from the previous night, his brow furrowing.

"Peter," He heard Edmund call. He turned his head as Edmund came to where he stood, and felt his hand clasp around the back of his neck in a comforting gesture.

"You look troubled," Edmund said.

"I'm not, really. Just...thinking. You know me."

"Yeah, I do. And I know that you should take a breath and stop _worrying_ for five minutes, because it is a _beautiful_ day outside and our _family_ is waiting for us to come and have brunch with them. Nothing's going to happen in the next hour, and even if it _did_, wouldn't you like to enjoy yourself a bit before it all went to pot? I can smell the eggs all the way over here," he said.

Peter looked at him, smiling. "You know, I think you're right."

"Well, good," Edmund said. "I always knew I was the smart one," he finished, and Peter laughed as the two began to walk.

"Oh really? Well if you're the smart one, then what am I?" Peter asked.

"You're the brave one," Edmund said. "And Caspian's the pretty one." They both laughed. Peter's stomach grumbled and he inhaled deeply, smelling the eggs, just as Edmund had.

"Aslan above," he said, "I'm _starving_. I feel like I haven't eaten in days!"

"Well, you haven't really," Edmund answered wryly, as they rounded the corner to the solar. Peter just smiled, before the door to the solar opened, revealing Caspian, Lucy and Susan sitting eating brunch. A round of Hello's chorused up at them both.

"Hullo all," Edmund said, clapping Peter on the back before moving into the room and taking a seat around the large circular table, next to Susan.

Peter took the seat in between Lucy and Caspian, kissing Lucy's cheek and sitting down with a thud, a big smile on his face. He saw wary looks across the table, and a silence settled over the party. Edmund kept himself from spoiling anything, managing to keep a foreboding look on his face.

Suddenly Peter glanced up, as if just noticing their anxious faces. He adopted a confused and shocked expression. "Who died?" he asked, but a second later the facade wore off as he wasn't able to keep the smile off his face any longer.

Immediately the mood lightened, as everyone let out relieved breaths. Susan rolled her eyes good naturedly, and Lucy smacked him on the arm. "Ow!" he said, while taking a huge bite out of a piece of toast with marmalade on it.

"That wasn't funny Peter!" Lucy exasperated. "You shouldn't joke about things like that!" But she was smiling.

"You're right, Lu, sorry. It was bad of me," he said, continuing to munch on his toast happily. Lucy couldn't help it and she laughed.

"Well?" she asked.

"Well, what?" Peter said.

"You look rested this morning," Caspian said from beside him. "Did you sleep well?" he asked.

"As a matter of fact, yes – I did. Thank _Aslan_, too; the whole thing was getting a bit ridiculous," he said, and Edmund stifled a smile. Peter then told the story to the other three, highlighting for them the differences between this dream and the previous ones.

"And you couldn't tell what was she dreaming about?" Caspian asked.

"No...I don't know, exactly. It wasn't a nightmare, and Aslan was there. That's all I could make out for certain. It was very...I think she was relieved. The whole thing felt very cathartic."

"Right," Edmund said, interrupting the explanation and twirling his fork in his fingers. "Well, the thing is, is that if she's coming from the mountains, we've got a bit of a time frame, don't we?"

Caspian nodded. "Yes – it's one and a half days on a fast horse from the Cair to the border...but she's been traveling for days now; little food, little shelter...that horse will be exhausted if they've been riding as hard as you've said, Peter. It will take her longer than that. Two days, maybe three."

Just then, the door opened.

"The Lord Stewart, Majesties?" A servant asked pleasantly, standing in the doorway.

"Yes, send him in," Peter replied, turning round in his chair as Trumpkin came into the room.

"Lord Stewart!" Peter boomed. "How fared your travels?" he asked, conscious not to say too much as the door to the solar closed behind them. He moved to get up and greet Trumpkin when the dwarf stopped him.

"No, no, stay seated your Majesty," he said, coming around and clasping Peter's forearm in greeting. "My travels were...informative, to say the least. I'll say you're looking a sight better than when we last parted ways," he said gruffly, then nodding his hello with a 'your Majesties' to the group, and a subtle wave to Lucy, who smiled. They chorused their 'hello's', and Peter answered him.

"I'm _feeling_ better, good friend," he said. "Although judging by the look on your face, it's not set to last long. Has Glenstorm returned as well?"

"Everyone's assembled in the Long room, if your Majesties are willing to cut brunch a bit short. Sorry for the lack of notice, but I think you'll find it pressing information," Trumpkin answered. Peter looked around to his family, and they all nodded their agreement.

"Alright then," Peter said, as he, Edmund and Caspian stood for Lucy and Susan, waiting for them to pass before they too left the solar. The mood was tense as the five Monarchs followed Trumpkin down the hall to the council room, but they nodded pleasantly and smiled at all who they passed. So much for a relaxing morning.

The council room (or long room, as it was called), was located on one of the upper floors of the castle, off one of the main staircases. It was, predictably, a very long room, with long, thin windows that faced the sea. If one looked directly out of them, they would notice that at that point the castle seemed to jut directly out of the rocks below, falling in a sheer drop to the ocean. The room was filled by a table that stretched the length of the room and sat all the council members. Each seat at the table was marked by a placard with the persons' name and title, an ink well and quill stand, and a hanging lantern. And in the middle of the table lay an accurate geographic replica of Narnia and its borders.

The two large doors to the room were opened, and in they all walked. The Senior council members all stood as they entered, greeting them. There was Glenstorm, Senior Advisor to the Monarchy and Field Marshall General of the Narnian Army; Doctor Cornelius, Senior Advisor to the Monarchy, Court Physician and Historian; Lord Berza, a Telmarine Narnian and member of the Telmarine Rights Council of which Caspian was Chair, and Castellan of Cair Paravel (Lord Berza was really only a member of the small council, but he was here to move a motion); Farsight the Eagle, Marshall of the Narnian Air Force, and of course Trumpkin the Lord Stewart, and themselves.

There were five or six empty seats which belonged to members of the small council, of which Reepicheep and Trufflehunter were members. It was a bit ironic that it was called the small council actually, since when it was in session it was actually _bigger_ than the senior council, but the title referred generally to the size of the problems being discussed, not the size of the council itself. The meeting being held today was of the Senior Council, and by the looks on the faces of the members at the table, it seemed they like they were all going to be spending quite a bit of time there.

Peter took his seat at the end of the table, and Edmund, who was the presiding Monarch over the Council, took his seat at the head. Lucy, Susan, and Caspian took their seats on the sides, with Lucy and Susan both on one and Caspian on the other. The council members all sat then, and the whole group began to talk quietly amongst themselves, waiting for Edmund to start the proceedings.

He was at the moment speaking quietly to a servant who had entered the room. He nodded his head and the servant left, scurrying across the marble floor to another door at the far left of the room. Two minutes later the door opened again and the same servant came back inside with a large refreshment cart. Everyone looked at Edmund, who shrugged his shoulders a bit sheepishly.

"What?" he asked. "I was thirsty. Tea, anyone?" Peter rolled his eyes good naturedly from the end of the table, but accepted a cup of tea all the same. As soon as everyone had their tea, the meeting began.

"Alright everyone," Edmund started. "Welcome to another Senior Council, my favourite thing to do on a Sunday." There was a laugh at the table.

"The date is...December 2nd, 2307. I am King Edmund, presiding chair of Senior Council under the Jurisdiction of High King Peter. There are currently...ten members of the Senior Council in attendance, achieving quorum." This formal beginning was recited every meeting for recording purposes, to a Pelican who sat perched just to Edmund's left. Pelicans had superb memories, and could listen and recite back all that was said during the meeting for the Court Scribe to record after the meeting was adjourned.

"This is our fifty..." he looked through the papers in front of him. "...fourth meeting of the year!" he ended in an exclamation, his eyebrows raised. That was a lot of councils! "That's slightly disconcerting. Is there any member of the Senior Council who wishes to challenge the meeting of this body?" He looked up, and no-one spoke.

"Seeing no dissenters, the meeting has officially been called," he continued, striking his gavel on the sound block before him. As soon as was done so, everyone in the room seemed to settle a bit, their body language becoming more relaxed.

"Alright," Edmund said again. "Well. A warm welcome to you all, especially Field Marshall Glenstorm, Lord Trumpkin and Air Marshall Farsight, who have just returned from long voyages, only to have to sit here with us for the next few hours," he said, and the table laughed again. "We'll also note that our High King is in decidedly better spirits today, which we may thank Aslan for," he continued smirking, prompting Peter to shoot him a look.

"However, before we get down to the matters at hand, I've been told there is some other business?" he continued, looking down the table to Lord Berza. "I'd rather get this sorted now, Castellan Berza, so that we can devote the rest of our time uninterrupted," he said, not unkindly, addressing the man by his high title.

Lord Berza stood. "Of course, Your Majesty," he said, nodding to Edmund. "And a fond greeting to you all, my majesties and fellow councilmen. As we all are aware, today marks the beginning of our second week at the newly restored Cair Paravel, thanks to the massive reconstruction effort contributed by our populace and orchestrated by King Caspian. I address the Senior Council today with the question of a celebratory ball. As we know, it is customary to christen the completion and inhabitancy of a Monarchical seat with a celebratory ball. There have been numerous rumors in the halls and in the city as to why this has not been done. I move for the allowance of a committee to be formed, chaired by our two Queens, to organize said celebratory ball, here at Cair Paravel. I open the motion to the council for discussion," he said, and sat down again.

"Discussion?" Edmund asked, looking around the table. Susan nodded her head slightly at him and he outstretched his hand in her direction as if to say _'go ahead'_.

"Castellan," she said, nodding to him. "I too have heard many questions about our lack of some kind of public activity," she began, speaking to the Castellan. Then she spoke as if speaking to the whole council. "The situation we find ourselves in at present is dangerous and vague – not welcoming conditions for a ball. We are waiting on information from other members of our council on matters of national security. As much as I heartily enjoy balls, I cannot allow myself to vote on this motion until present circumstances have been determined. I move to postpone the vote on this matter until after that information has been presented. I also move to amend that the motion, if passed, be held in suspension for three days. If no new information is presented by that time, the motion will be taken out of suspension, and the committee will begin planning," she finished.

Edmund looked to Lord Berza. "Is that amendment friendly, Castellan?" Edmund asked.

"Yes, Sire," he said. Edmund spoke again. "Does anyone else want to speak to the motion?" he asked, with no one speaking. "Moving to voting, then. All in favor?" he asked, to which all members of the council raised their hands. "All opposed?" and no hands were raised.

"That carries. Castellan, if you would like to head back to your duties, we'll alert you when the council will decide." Castellan Berza nodded, and thanked His Majesties and the other members of the council, looking somewhat relieved to be out of the room as he walked towards the door. "Next order of business, then. I'll turn it over to you, Lord Stewart. I believe you have some information for us."

Trumpkin's chair was specially modified with a plank off the front edge of the seat, allowing him to stand on it, making him regular height. It was tradition to stand to deliver one's address, and this allowed him to do so without being obscured by the table top.

"My fellow councilmen, Your Majesties," he began, in his low, gruff voice. "As you know, Field Marshall Glenstorm, Air Marshall Farsight and I have been absent these past few days gathering information regarding our level of border security, and the probability of a Calormene threat. I myself was present at the court of King Donar at Archenland, and spoke with him and his advisers. They informed me that they spotted five Calormene soldiers in the eastern mountains heading north very gradually. They were identified as being members of the Tisroc's elite guard; a separate and advanced entity from the national army that takes orders from the Tisroc himself, not the military commanders. Although only five were spotted, the guard itself is usually composed of some twenty-odd men – we're not sure how many of them are traveling in the mountains now."

"I take it this is not a usual occurrence," Edmund said, tapping his thumb on the table.

"That would be correct your majesty," Trumpkin answered. "While some activity is not unusual, it's usually desert dwelling folk in Calormen taking shelter in the mountains during sandstorm season - not militants.

"When were they spotted?" asked Peter.

"Two days ago. They were spread out along the eastern ridge, in defensive and reconnaissance formations."

"Surveillance?" Caspian said, a frown forming on his face.

"It is believed so, yes. The Archlandian guard didn't see what it was they were after – whatever they were looking for was too far ahead - they couldn't go after it without losing sight of the soldiers."

"No action was taken against these soldiers?" Lucy asked.

"No," Trumpkin answered. "It would have been seen as a personal attack on the Tisroc himself...especially so because none of the soldiers used aggressive action towards any citizen of Archenland or committed any crime...it isn't against Archlandian law to cross the border from Calormen - after all, the two nations aren't at war with one another."

"So then where does that leave us?" Peter asked, steeping his fingers under his chin.

"Donar assured me he'd send falcons with news as soon as they got it...he has special surveillance groups monitoring mountain activity 24 hours a day." Peter was silent for a moment.

"Alright, here's what I don't understand," he said. "We know for sure that there is a girl, coming from Calormen, that's been traveling through those mountains, on her way to our border. Now we hear that Rabadash sent out his elite guard to find something, in those same mountains; I don't think it's a leap to assume it's _her_ they're searching for. But if that's so, how does a fully trained squadron of men not catch up to one girl traveling without any clue as to where she's going? Why were they watching her, but not _catching_ her? It doesn't make sense."

Susan looked at Peter intently before replying. "Alright, hold on. I know what I'm going to say is...unpopular...with some of you, but it needs to be said. Peter, you just asked why they would watch, but not catch. What if that wasn't their intention at all? What if they weren't even trying to catch her? What if they were trying to _guide_ her?"

Peter shook his head vigorously. "No. It's impossible. I've been in this girls' head, Su. She was _running_. You can't fake that kind of fear - she didn't want them anywhere near her. There's something else going on here."

"Well _what_?" Susan asked, the level of her voice rising slightly. "I don't see any other explanation for it. Now, I'm not saying that we should just condemn her as a criminal Peter - I'm _not_. I'm just saying we _need_ to be more careful. What if...what if this Rabadash is bribing her with something? Or for something? Information about us, our weaknesses?" Peter stared at her, his mouth set in a firm line. Susan took a deep breath.

"It's _not_ that I don't believe you Peter. I do. I just...I don't think this is something we can afford to take a chance with. We need to be objective with this girl, as hard as it might be." She wanted to add _for you_, but thought better of it. A council meeting wasn't the time for that. Peter also took in a deep breath, letting it out slowly through this nose.

"Yes, I know," he said, and Susan's shoulders seemed to relax a little. "I have a very strong feeling that she _isn't_ what you suspect of her Susan, but I acknowledge that there is more going on here than simply a girl running away from home. Trumpkin, anything else to add?"

"Not from Anvard, except for that we should hear word from them soon. But you're going to want to hear what Glenstorm here has to say on that subject," he said, sitting back down.

Edmund, who had been quietly digesting what was being said in front of him, thanked Trumpkin. "Field Marshall," he said, looking to Glenstorm. "What news?"

Glenstorm, who had already been standing, began to speak in his deep and fluid timbre. "Thank you, your Majesty," he said, nodding then to the other Monarchs, "and, to my Majesties and fellow councilmen. As Your Majesties will know, there has been unusual movement in the heavens. I left to meet my kin in order that together, we might decipher the meanings of the stars that have so drastically changed from what we have known just one month ago. We gazed for five nights, and I return now with our answers. It is...sobering news, indeed. We have seen much chaos, and confusion. What was previously hidden has come to light; many new stars have formed. Much is happening...much unrest. There may be war, from the South. We have seen the girl of whom you speak, High King. She is a friend to Narnia, but brings danger with her. It is not of her making, but it will come nonetheless. Her path is hidden however – we have not been able to decipher the date of her arrival. There is also much hidden to the South. Many things are beginning. Men of influence have come into power, and will use it in different ways; most for evil, few for good. There will be battle, Majesties. The stars do not show all, but sometimes answers are found not in what is _shown_, but in what is _absent_. We believe it will come to war. We believe Aslans' warning has come to be the present." There was again, a brief silence.

"That confirms it then," Peter said. "There's no way this is all a coincidence. This girl, whoever she is, she's _involved_ in this, and as soon as she gets here, _we_ will be too."

"We must alert our allies then, that we suspect definite aggression from Calormen," Caspian said, speaking up first. "This must be done very carefully. Word must be sent to Galma, and Archenland, especially. Our armies are great, but Calormene has more than twice the population of Narnia, with an army the size of a city. To ignore this would be suicide."

Peter nodded. "I agree. We do have to start getting out word. This new Tisroc of theirs sounds pretty green...he wants to test his strength against ours. "

Edmund turned to Glenstorm next. "Glenstorm, you said 'Men of influence'. So we're not dealing with one player here, are we?"

"It is not exactly clear, King Edmund," Glenstorm said. "But there are multiple spheres of influence from the South."

"So we...we might have allies there," Edmund finished and Glenstorm nodded. "The heavens tell us good _and_ evil."

"That's something we're going to have to think about, then," Edmund said.

"What do you mean?" Susan asked, her brows furrowing. She didn't like the sound of this.

"He means to go around – cut at their defenses by forming an alliance on the inside," Caspian supplied, looking at Edmund for confirmation, who nodded at him. "I can understand why," Caspian said. "But it is very risky...we do not know the _size_ of this ally, even if they are there. Is it one man, or an army? I would be wary to send a force into Calormen without knowing as much as humanly possible about our chances– what happens if they are captured? Hope for escape or rescue is minimal. Tashbaan is built as a fortress. Once the river is crossed, there is only the endless ocean on one side, and the endless desert on the other."

"Valid point," Edmund admitted. "Anything left to add, Glenstorm?"

"Nay, My King," Glenstorm said.

"Thank you." Edmund said. Glenstorm inclined his head towards him in recognition. "Air Marshall?" he said next, looking to Farsight - an ornery and dignified old Eagle who had led hundreds of missions for the Telmarines and was a bonafide genius when it came to military strategy.

"Sir, Yes Sir!" the Eagle said, lifting the tip of his wing in a salute. The Eagle's voice was low and gravelly, but booming. He saluted to the other Monarchs, receiving brief nods in return. "Six days ago, at approximately oh-six-hundred hours, a team of eagles infiltrated enemy air space to bring back information! They traveled south west across Archenland territory, coming around the western most side of the Calormene border. Located far from any civilian center, in the foothills of the western mountains, there was spotted an army camp in construction."

Brows furrowed throughout the room but Peter spoke first. "A _camp_?" he asked, hands on the table, palms down.

"Affirmative, Majesty." Farsight replied, using the tip of his wing to mark where the camp was located on the map in the middle of the table. "An odd location – supply routes are long and difficult, as one must travel all the way down the mountain side and then east again back to Tashbaan. However, there appear to be checkpoints along the makeshift trail, for reloading and stocking of supplies. Large areas have been cleared for tents and training grounds, and some kind of temple as well."

"How many people?" Caspian asked.

"Not many at present time." Farsight said. "However, it is our official estimate that the size of the camp could potentially supply approximately thirty thousand troops."

"Thirty _thousand_..." Peter repeated, his mouth slack jawed and his voice low.

"Affirmative." Farsight answered. "The location of the camp seems to _suggest_ plans for invasion of Archenland, or, since the base is similar distance away from the Narnian border as it is to Anvard, an invasion of Narnia _via_ Archenland. If the latter is the case, it is unclear if the Calormenes are planning a battle at Anvard. They may decide to forgo it, seeking instead to take Narnia first – then they could travel back down and Take Anvard with little resistance, even though the risk is considerably higher." The Eagle nodded his head briskly and perched back down.

"Thank you, Air Marshall," Edmund said. The table was silent, so he continued, looking at Peter. "Thoughts, anyone?" he asked.

"Alright," Peter began. "Lets look at what's on the table. We've got a new leader of a nation we're not exactly friendly with, starting up a new military camp close to the Archlandian border. We've got his personal guards stalking something in the mountains; almost certainly it's this girl. We don't know why she's coming here, but we know she's connected somehow. And then we have Aslan's warning, and Glenstorms' read of the stars, telling us a battle is coming and that we need to evaluate Calormen closely for allies there. I think this calls for an agenda," Peter said. "I think we need to start by alerting our neighbors, firstly. Get them all on board with the information we've received; we'll need them if Calormen does attack."

"How do we know Calormen isn't _using_ any of them?" Susan asked.

"Not their style," Edmund said. "They'll work alone – That Tisroc of theirs won't want to share his glory with anybody. Plus their army is big enough anyway. They don't need funds or men supplied by anyone else."

"Alright, so then how do we do it? We can't send correspondence, in the case that it gets intercepted. We can't just bring them all here for a summit, because it's too high profile. And we can't send one of us, in the case that there's – Aslan forbid- a source in the Castle," Susan finished. Lucy, who had been very quiet during the meeting, suddenly spoke up.

"The ball!" she said.

"Lucy...we're going to talk about that in a minute. Right _now_ we're talking abo-"

"I _know_ what we're talking about, Edmund. What I _mean_ is that a ball is the answer to our problem. If we're going to have one commemorating Cair Paravel as the new seat of Government, we'd need to invite King Donar, and King Tave and all the dignitaries from the Lone and Seven isles _anyways._ So let's _have_ a ball, and then while they're _here_, we can discuss all this with them. It's the perfect cover!" she finished with a smile.

A smile slowly lit up Peters' face. "That...is an excellent idea, Lucy," he said, and Lucy just smiled.

Susan still did not look convinced. "Oh Susan, we mustn't wait! We need to tell everyone what we know as soon as we can, and get ready! Please say you think it's a good idea," Lucy pleaded.

"Well..." Susan started, worrying her lip with her teeth. "I still think we ought to wait until this girl is found..."

"It's not as if we're going to have the ball before she gets here – I mean, if she gets here," Lucy added. "It'll just be planning, invitations...that sort of thing, you know? And I know you think it'll work too, you're just being cautious," she finished. "But I'm not sure we have any other choice, at this point."

Susan continued deliberating for a moment.

"Well...alright," she said finally. "I suppose you're right, aren't you," she said to Lucy. "We can't really do anything else anyways, waiting for her to get here. We might as well plan something constructive in the mean time," she finished.

The boys groaned. "Balls," Edmund said. "Since when are we using balls as covers for international foreign policy summits?" he asked. "Well alright then, I think it's a rather good idea, don't you?" he asked Peter and Caspian.

"If it must be done, it must be done," Caspian said wryly, to which Lucy reached across the table and smacked him on the arm. "Ow! No, it's quite an ingenious plan, My Queen," he said to her truthfully, and she relented.

"It is, isn't it!" Peter said, excited. "Look here, then, two birds with one stone! Let's get Berza back in here, and get him all excited." So Lord Berza was called back, and upon hearing the news _was_ rather excited.

"We've decided to waive the waiting period, and just start planning now," Susan said. "Because of..." she looked at Lucy for a moment who shook her head a little bit as if to say _'well I don't know what to say either!'_ Susan looked back to the Castellan. "Excitement!" She finished.

"Oh _yes_ Your Majesty, excitement in_deed!_ Well, there is so much to be done! May I impress upon Her Majesties to meet sometime tomorrow with myself, the Chamberlain, and the smaller staffs?" he asked.

"Yes of course, Castellan Berza. Let us say...two? Lucy?" Susan asked, looking to Lucy.

"Oh yes, certainly. We don't want to waste any time at all!" Lucy beamed at Castellan Berza, making the older Gentleman positively blush, and he left the room in a hurry after he was excused.

Edmund smirked, watching the older gentleman go. "I think you've charmed him, Lu," he said, and Lucy turned her head to give him a look. He laughed, and addressed the table. "Alright, well it doesn't seem as though we're ready to move any motions, so I think we should adjourn this and meet again in five days time, unless of an emergency. Thoughts?" The table voiced their agreement.

"Well then. I'd like to thank Sir Pelican for Recording for us, and bring this Senior Council to a close." He tapped the gavel once on the sounding block, and the meeting was adjourned.

Sunlight streamed through the windows as they all walked out of the council room, with Edmund stopping Sir Pelican to let him know he could find the scribe at his earliest convenience. Peter clasped Glenstorms' forearm in greeting as soon as they came out into the hall.

"Old friend," he said. "It's good to have you back at the Cair."

"It is pleasing to know my absence was so keenly felt, your Majesty," he teased lightly in his deep, rumbling voice. "Indeed," Peter answered. "I've gotten quite used to you hulking along beside me wherever I go," he finished with a smile. Glenstorm laughed, and they walked down the staircase slightly behind Edmund, Caspian, Susan and Lucy.

"Ed! Cas!" He called ahead, and the two turned around. "Since there's not much we can do at the moment except hurry up and wait, do you fancy a bit of a spar in this good weather?" he asked.

Caspian raised one eyebrow wryly, smirking. "Is His Majesty fully recovered from his bout of insomnia, then?"

Peter puffed out his chest, closing his hand into a fist and laying it upon his breast. "My _Majesty_ is as strong as a bull," he said, to which Edmund laughed.

"Please!" he said, leaning forward on a laugh. "You were winded walking up these stairs earlier!" Caspian began laughing as well, and Peter looked affronted.

"Now, that is simply untrue!" he sputtered. "I'm as healthy as a Horse," he said, turning to Glenstorm. "Come on then Glenstorm, let's have a spar then." But the centaur joined in on the chiding.

"Perhaps Your Majesty should wait until his strength has returned, as King Edmund has suggested," he said, but his eyes gave him away as teasing even as he spoke gravelly.

"I can't believe this," Peter said. "Doesn't anyone listen to me around here?" he shouted to no one in particular, sending a group of Telmarine servant girls off giggling. Caspian clapped him on the shoulder.

"I think _they_ were listening to you," he said laughing.

"Oh really? Well, you're all going to pay for this. Sparring , right now. That's an _order_. You too Glenstorm! A tournament of champions. The girls will decide the winner. Lucy! Su!" he called, and they turned around.

"We're going to be having a tournament of champions, and we'd like you to be our judges." The two girls laughed.

"Any reason why, Peter?" Susan asked, linking her arm through Lucy's.

"He wants to prove how impervious to sleeplessness he is, and save his manly pride," Edmund supplied, and Peter locked him in a headlock.

"_ACTUALLY," _Peter half yelled, struggling with Edmund who was yelling and laughing and flailing about with his head under Peter's arm, "It's to take advantage of the lovely – oof! Sunshine. You're going to pay for that Ed!" He yelled, as Edmund ran up ahead.

The next morning began quite similarly to the past two mornings, with everyone in good spirits because Peter had continued to sleep well with no more dreams. The only thing that was different was the weather. It was no longer sunny and warm, but instead cloudy and cold as was the usual for that time of year.

At breakfast that morning, Glenstorm informed them of a heavy storm that was on its way and would reach them by the evening.

"Where's it coming from, Glenstorm?" Edmund had asked, always interested in the weather patterns and means of predicting them.

"It comes on the western wind, Your Majesty," Glenstorm had said, and as directly after Susan had asked Peter to pass the water, that had been the end of that. But something hadn't sat quite well in Lucy's mind. _It comes on the western wind..._ where had she heard that before? The thought plagued her all day, prompting Susan to ask about it.

"Why, Lucy! You look positively frustrated – what's bothering you?" But Lucy couldn't really _say_ what, because she didn't exactly know herself.

It was simply the wording of Glenstorm's sentence. _It comes on the western wind..._perhaps it was a line from a song she had heard once. Yes, that was it! It had to be – a faun tale, about the wind, or the water, she supposed. But there was still a nagging thought in the back of her mind that screamed out it was something else. _But what? what could it be..._

She still hadn't managed to figure it out by supper time, sitting at the table with her little mouth and eyebrows set firmly, deep in thought.

"Lu?" Peter had asked, concerned. "What is it?" Again, she hadn't had anything to say. So the meal progressed as usual, until dessert was being served. A lovely pumpkin pie from Galma, the last pumpkins of the season. As she took her first bite, she couldn't help but thinking how exactly the color of the pie matched the color of Aslan's mane...

"Oh my gosh!" Lucy said, her fork dropping from her hand and her chair making a harsh scraping sound against the floor as she suddenly stood. Her family stopped their conversation, looking up at her with alarm.

"What the devil's going on Lu?" Edmund asked, just a tad annoyed to be interrupted during his favourite snack.

"It's time, it's time!" she babbled almost incoherently. "Look outside!" And so they all did, seeing that the storm had finally come in, showering the Castle and the land with the beginnings of a heavy rain and snow.

"...yes Lu, it's called the _weather_," Edmund deadpanned. "Glenstorm _told_ us the storm'd be here tonight; what's got you all worked up for?" Lucy forced herself to speak calmly and slowly.

"This morning at breakfast Edmund, when you asked Glenstorm where the storm was coming from, he said that it was 'coming on the western wind'. And I've been wracking my brain _all _day _trying_ to figure out why that sounded so _familiar_ to me, and I just remembered it now!" she said, her arms flailing up wildly.

They all looked at her with confused expressions, Peters' fork still halfway to his mouth. Caspian prompted her. "...and?"

"And!" she cried as if she couldn't believe they hadn't figured it out. "_Aslan!_" her arms flailed as she said His name. "He said it to us! When He told us about the...prophecy, I suppose. He said that 'a change is coming, and it comes on the western wind'. He used those _exact_ words! I remember because they sounded so lovely when He first used them! I think she's here, Peter! I think she's here, right now, coming to Cair Paravel!"

"Lucy..." Peter started, but Lucy cut him off.

"No, Peter, I mean it. I'm serious. It's too much of a coincidence. These things don't just _happen_ in Narnia by _chance_, they happen for a _reason_! A terrible storm on the western wind, just as we've been anticipating her arrival? You _must_ go out and look for her! What if she's out there and you didn't look, and she _dies!_" she cried, almost frantic. "Trust me!" she said, and Peter saw that she was being truly serious. And he knew that when Lucy said she saw things, or felt things...it was best just to believe her. So he stood from the table.

"I do trust you, Lu," he said, and immediately a relieved look spread across her face. He nodded to Caspian and to Edmund, who also both stood. "We'll go out and see if we can find anyone. I want you two to _stay_ in the castle, is that understood? If we do find her, I suppose she'll need all the help she can get," he finished, looking outside at the storm that was now pounding the windows with so much snow, it was practically all they could see. The girls nodded, and Peter, Caspian and Edmund left the dining hall with the girls on their heels.

Trumpkin, who had opted out of supper, was walking down the hall after a late meeting with the security Mice and saw the Monarchs barreling towards him.

"Your Majesties?" he asked, confused.

"Trumpkin!" Peter said. "I need riders - the best on the guard - and our most steadfast horses. We think – well, Lucy thinks - the girl may be out there in the snow somewhere. A search party, and quickly!" he said, and the Lord Stewart nodded, running off down the opposite way to alert the guard. Ten minutes later, twenty horses, their riders, and a squad of hunting dogs barreled out of the stables at Cair Paravel and into the storm, dressed all in black and with lanterns in their hands.

The storm was furious, obscuring their vision not five meters in front of them. The wind was everywhere and the rain stung their eyes, making it hard for the dogs to see or smell, and they called out their mournful cries into the night.

"Set up a perimeter!" Peter yelled as they got deeper into the woods. Half the men spread out with lanterns, sticking the posts deep into the snow and setting the lanterns alight. They searched small areas at a time, vainly digging through the snow.

"Remember!" Peter called out against the wind. "A white horse!"

Small sector after small sector, the members of the search party returned with nothing. "Nay!" each one yelled, "nothing here!" And farther out and farther out they went, setting up a new perimeter each time. And just when Peter thought Lucy must have been overestimating the importance of the storm, he heard Caspian's voice above the snow. He was yelling, but it was faint.

"_...ou...er!"_ Peter heard, not deciphering the message through the howling wind. He turned Christo around, and the horse neighed. "Whoa, boy, whoa," he called to the beast, settling it slightly. He clicked his tongue against his teeth, spurring it forward, over to Caspian. The dim light of the torches was around him, and he heard Caspians' voice again.

"_I've...oun...er!" _Peter drove the horse faster. Finally, he saw them. _"I've found her!"_ Caspian was saying. Indeed, he had. A white horse lay in the snow, shielding its rider as best it could against the elements. The horse looked alright, but the rider wasn't moving. _A good horse,_ Peter thought fleetingly, as he came up next to the group. He could barely see the girls face, but the horse was exactly the same as he had seen it in his dreams, and the girl's long black hair stretched out behind her in the snow, like an inky river . He didn't even bother to dismount.  
"It's her!" he yelled. "Edmund!" he called out to his brother. "Ruben is the fastest and surest of our Horses, and you our best rider! Will you take her?" Edmund nodded yes, and the men worked quickly, lifting the girl up out of the snow and positioning her somewhat awkwardly in front of Edmund, who wrapped one full arm around her waist, leaving the other to handle the reins. "Steady, boy!" he called to his horse, who was momentarily alarmed at all the men around him and the sudden extra weight. In the next moment though he was fine, and stomped his powerful flanks on the snow beneath him, whinnying into the night air. Peter called out again.

"Back to the Cair!" he shouted, his booming voice seeming to echo in this grove of trees. The storm was almost unbearable now, and the riders went as quickly as possible back to the castle, with one more horse and rider in tow. The white stallion kept up as best as could be expected, and they made alright time against the howling winds. Ten of the riders spread out again from the main group, weaving through the trees and quickly picking up torches as they went, then joining up again. An hour from when they first left, the riders returned to the cair, soaking wet and freezing cold. Susan and Lucy hurried out through the main gates with Doctor Cornelius and the healers in tow. The horses whinnied and neighed, and the dogs howled.

"Did you find her?" Lucy cried out, reaching the group first, going up to Peter. Peter nodded his head, unable to speak as his blood thrummed furiously through his veins and his heart pumped so hard he thought he could feel it in his toes. "Ed...mund!" he managed to get out, as the much warmer air from inside the gates assaulted his lungs and made them burn.

Lucy looked over at her other brother, and saw that Ruben was indeed carrying two riders; one was clearly her brother, and the other clearly was not. "Whoa...whoa," Peter said to Christo, patting the horse firmly on the neck to calm its agitation. "Whoa..." he repeated, as the men helped Edmund lower the girl to the ground to be inspected by Doctor Cornelius and the healers. Lucy looked anxiously at the elderly man.

"Does she need my cordial?" she asked the Doctor, who was running his hands along her face and her body, inspecting her. "No," he said. "I don't believe so. But we must get her inside and warmed immediately." She was lifted swiftly onto a canvas stretcher which was pulled into a rectangle by oak dowels at its sides. The whole contraption was lifted and the party, including Susan and Lucy, left to go to the infirmary. It seemed that just as quickly as the girl had been brought in she was taken away, leaving Peter almost bewildered as to the speed of it all. He caught his breath finally and dismounted Christo, going up to Caspian and Edmund, clasping them on their shoulders as if to say, 'well done'.

He then thanked the riders for their service, and sent them to the kitchens for meat and mead. His legs were unsteady beneath him for some reason. He hadn't seen much of her...had barely seen her at all. But what struck him the most was her _age_. He reckoned she couldn't have been any older than _Lucy_...seventeen, eighteen, at the most. _Just a girl,_ he thought to himself, as they too made their way up out of the stables, leaving the horses to the discretion of the stable master. Ahead of them, he heard the shouts of the nurses, of Doctor Cornelius. _What if she dies?_ For some reason that thought struck him rather hard, and he decided he shouldn't dwell on it. _What else was there to be done, though?_

Outside the storm slowly quieted, until it was barely a mere whisper of what it had been. It had made its way inside, where it would continue to rage until the morning.

It was going to be a very, _very_ long night.

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reviews are lovely!


	7. Six: The Waking

**Chapter Six:**

**The Waking**

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A castle is like a city – it never truly sleeps.

There are however, nights when the illusion of sleep falls upon the grounds, when not a person or animal seems to be awake, when nothing but the mist of darkness moves through the halls and the quietness settles like a thick fog in the air.

On first glance, this seemed to be such a night at Cair Paravel. But although almost all of the persons in the Castle were asleep and motionless, if one looked deeper, they would see that a very distinct group of them was _not_.

It was to this group that Peter walked, his footsteps echoing off the walls and disappearing into the cavernous ceiling above him. Doctor Cornelius had called for peace and quiet to do his work, and had ordered everyone who was not directly needed to leave the infirmary. So, he, Edmund, Caspian, Trumpkin and Glenstorm had left, leaving the Doctor, Lucy, Susan and the rest of the nurses to their patient.

That had been six hours ago.

He'd waited in his study, but found himself too full of thoughts to simply sit. So he settled instead on walking the Castle grounds, up staircases and down them, through the halls and libraries. He'd tried sleeping, but couldn't quite manage it as Caspian and Edmund had.

He was nervous, plain and simple. And when one of the Doctors' messengers had approached him a few minutes ago to tell him they were finished, it had gotten even worse. It didn't show outwardly of course – he was too adept at controlling his emotions and his body language for that. But he felt it, in his restless fingers and in his mouth, where he was swallowing twice as much as normal. The messenger, a cat named Oulis, had bid him not to the infirmary, but to the guest wing, and that was where he made his way.

The moonlight cut across his eyes as he passed by the tall windows, his stride long and steady. The door to the room they were in loomed before him, and he could see the sliver of light at the bottom, contrasting starkly against the dark shadowed marble around it. One of the jaguars kept watch at the door, and bowed his head deeply as Peter approached.

"Sire," he purred lowly, and Peter inclined his head towards him in return. "Yagura," he said. 'It is good to see you."

"And you Sire."

"I gather Caspian asked you here."

"Indeed, Sire," the jaguar said. Yagura was one of the strongest and stealthiest males in his pack, and being without a mate or cubs, often traveled far distances with the monarchs on their journeys.

"Thank you for keeping sentry – I know it isn't your usual task, but this is of the highest importance right now."

"I understand Sire," the jaguar replied, his tail swishing through the air once, and then settling back on the marble floor. Peter could hear talking from inside, and with one more bow of Yagura's head, he walked inside.

Closing the door behind him softly, he looked up and saw the Doctor, Edmund and Caspian standing in the small sitting room.

"Ah, Your Majesty," the Doctor said quietly, almost whispering. "We've been expecting you."

"Doctor," Peter said, coming over to them and supporting the Doctors' arm as he sat back down. Despite the elder mans' natural joyfulness and wry sense of humour, it was easy to see that he was not as young as he once was. "Oh!" he sighed aloud as he reclined in the high back chair once more. '"Thank you Your Majesty; my bones are old, and give me trouble. Not as much trouble, though, as our young visitor has had."

The three Kings looked at each other, and all sat down as he continued.

"The child has suffered a long journey, to be sure. I am surprised, actually, that she did not succumb...she was very nearly dead when she came to us, and for a multitude of reasons. She was in a mild hypothermic state and I fear if she had been outside even an hour or two longer, she would have certainly been dead. I originally thought she might lose one of her fingers, but the blisters appear to be superficial, thankfully. She seized for about forty minutes, on and off, while we warmed her...as I said, she was mildly hypothermic, which is not fatal for the average Narnian, as we are acclimatized to harsher temperatures - she however, is not, and it was much worse for her. Her face and hands are badly wind burned, and she has quite the gash on her forehead. A sprained ankle and a dislocated shoulder as well, although both were treated easily. Additionally, she is malnourished...it looks as though she hasn't eaten – or eaten very little - in quite some time. Poor thing," he tsked.

"Is she revived?" Caspian asked, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees.

"She is out of the comatose state she was in previously, but is now in a deep sleep. She will need to rest, yet."

"Is she safe? I mean to say, will she be alright, then?" Edmund asked, looking intently at the Doctor, who sighed heavily.

"She is not out of the woods yet, but we have certainly done all that we can for now, and if the situation should turn dire there is always Queen Lucy's cordial."

"May I see her?" Peter asked, his voice serious and deep.

"You may, Sire, although I would ask that you do not disturb her in any way. The nurses and your Royal sisters have taken great pains to ensure her sleep."

"Speaking of sisters, where are they?" Edmund asked.

"I have sent them to bed – they wanted to stay with the girl, but they were utterly exhausted."

Peter stood then, and began walking towards the bedroom door. The whole thing was a bit surreal, with the air in the room so warm and the smell of medicinal herbs all around him, and the light of the candles making all the shadows dance on the walls...it seemed very much like he was walking in slow motion. He vaguely heard Edmund ask something of the Professor behind him, but was so focused on the door that he couldn't make out the words.

The knob turned easily under his hand and very slowly he opened it, stepping inside and closing the door behind him softly. He leaned his forehead against the warm wood, almost afraid to turn around and look at the girl. But why though? He was Peter Pevensie, High King of Narnia – defeater of foes numerous and great, winner of battles and keeper of Kingdoms. The idea that this _girl _of all things should make him nervous was incredulous. But it was not her person that he feared – it was what she brought _with_ her that was dangerous.

But turn and look he did, and finally came face to face with the girl who had haunted his dreams and stolen his sleep this past week. What he was struck with right away was the familiarity he felt looking at her; there was no surprise in her appearance. She simply _was_, as if he had always known her; as if this was a reunion, not a first meeting. He had never seen her face in his dreams, but looking upon her now it was clear that she could never have looked any other way.

Her hair was what stood out the most he thought, as he took the seat in the chair next to the bed. It spread out like black ink on the pillows and sheets, running practically the length of her body, stopping mid-thigh. It was silky and shiny, glowing with the light of the fire, and he had no doubt that Lucy and Susan had washed it and brushed it, as they often did for each other.

She _was_ young, as he had suspected. He felt sure now that she could not have been much older than Lucy – eighteen, or so - not that that meant the same thing in Calormen as it did in Narnia. Eighteen was the age of majority in Narnia, but girls were married as young as eleven in the south. Her skin was dark, the colour of caramel, as was characteristic of all Calormenes. He could see paleness beneath though; that sickly pallor that accompanied all those who were very ill.

Her brows were dark and strong, spanning the width of her eyes, and were not curved softly as was the fashion in Narnia, but were more angular, more expressive. She had a large bandage wrapped around her forehead, covering what he assumed to be the wound there. Her eyelashes fanned out against pronounced cheekbones, and her cheeks were hollowed from malnutrition and the skin there was dry and red from windburn. Hers was an angular face, all sweeping brows and strong features and sharp jaw lines. Her mouth was wide, and the line of her nose was straight and sharp. She was altogether exotic, and Peter could not help but think her quite pretty, even with her ailments.

He continued looking her over, and saw a large bandage wrapped around her shoulder, under the robe she wore. Her arms were covered by long sleeves, but the skin on her hands was so cracked that her knuckles looked almost completely without skin. Peter did not envy those wounds, nor did he envy the horrible frostbite blisters which lay upon her index fingers. She had a multitude of small cuts on her face and neck, and on her hands as well.

The sheets were pulled up over her chest, with her arms over top them. Mustard seed packages were under her neck and her hands, and he could see wrapped hot stones under the covers at the foot of the bed. The medicine cart next to her bed was full of poultices and wraps, and there were a variety of herbs and tinctures that he knew and recognized. Cats Claw, to stimulate the immune system and bring down swelling, juice squeezed from cranberry seeds to prevent urinary infections, Echinacea to prevent infection; chamomile and Aloe to soothe the skin; lapacho, lemon balm and tea tree oil, kava kava and passionflower and valerian.

The fire crackled in the corner, and Peter leaned his elbows forward on his knees. She looked relaxed, from the way no lines creased her forehead as she slept. Well, at least one of them was at peace with their thoughts, he thought.

Who was this girl? What was she doing here? Was she married? Peter saw that she didn't have a wedding or engagement ring on her hand, and there was no tan line. That meant she would have to be of a higher class to be this old and still unmarried. That, plus the length of her hair; lower class girls in Calormen usually chopped theirs off for money, or always kept it short so as not to interfere with their work.

_It doesn't matter anyways, _Peter thought. This was all pure speculation on his part, and it was unfair to her, whether he said it aloud or not.

He forced his racing mind to be still and simply sat next to the bed, offering up whatever calming or comforting presence his being there might bestow. He stayed there for hours, simply watching; waiting.

He wondered if she knew he was there.

_There were marble columns all around her, and the sun glistened off their polished surfaces, making them glisten. She turned her hands up as if to catch the light, watching as it striped her skin with colour. _

_It was so warm! For some reason she felt as if she hadn't been warm in centuries. _

_There was something in the air...a song, she thought. It was very beautiful; a haunting melody she had never heard before. There were words, but she could not make them out. She followed the sound around corners and down staircases, through open doors and outside until she was in a great courtyard, with a fountain in the middle._

_She walked forward to the fountain, and saw it to be a deep pool with golden yellow flowers drifting on the surface. The song poured up out of that pool. _

_She sat down on the edge of it, placing her hands on the water, watching as it rippled from the pressure. She leaned down so that her ear was as close to the water as could be, and listened intently for the words of the song to reach her. _

_She heard nothing for a moment, and turned her face so that it was looking into the water. The face of a girl about her age stared back at her, youthful and freckled and beaming. _

'_Wake up!' the girl said, and pulled her into the pool._

Aara's eyes blinked open. She squeezed them shut once more before allowing them to tentatively flutter open again.

She stared up at the ceiling, and..._the ceiling. _She did not remember falling asleep under _any_ ceiling at all, let alone this one. Tash help her, she was in a strange room, a strange bed, with no idea where she might be. Swallowing hard, she closed her eyes tightly and forced herself not to panic. _Breathe in, breathe out. Breathe in, breathe out..._

The smell of herbs was all around her as she inhaled, and the room was bright from not only the sun pouring in through the window, but also a lit fire. So, it was daytime. That was one thing at least – it told her that the present time was at least ten hours or so from her last memory of being in the woods at night. She experimentally moved her fingers and toes, trying to asses her injuries. The movement caused her to wince - her fingers absolutely burned! She lifted her hands up slowly and saw that they had been salved and wrapped. Based on the pain, Aara was glad they had been wrapped so that she did not have to see was also wearing...something she had not been wearing before. A robe, of some kind – silk...that meant someone had _changed_ her! Tash_ forbid_, she thought, her cheeks flaming despite her situation; she tried to put the thought out of her mind. She could feel that her ankle had been bandaged, as well as her shoulder and her forehead...all three areas felt better, and the splitting headache from before was only a dull ache now. Aara shuffled her shoulders back to try and move into a semi sitting position, being as quiet as she could. As she did so, she tried to keep her running thoughts at bay, focusing only on the task at hand; figuring out where she was.

The room was not amazingly spacious, but it was a good size, and quite cozy. Off to the left she saw a washing room, and in front of her was a closed door, of which she could see until about halfway down its length, where her vision was obscured by the tall end board of the bed. It was clear to Aara that the owner of this home was wealthy – not many in Calormen would give a room of this size to a guest, not to mention have wood to spare for a fire in the middle of the day.

Suddenly, the door in front of her creaked open, and Aara's eyebrows rose into her hairline as she heard quiet voices but _saw_ no one in the space where it had opened.

"Now remember, you're not to disturb the Lady, d'you hear? We must be very gentle and quiet as we replace the towels," the voice said, and there was a murmur of smaller excited voices that followed. The footsteps slapped gently on the tile as they came closer to her, and still Aara saw nothing from atop her high bed. The medicine cart next to her rustled and moved, and all of a sudden a small duckling half hopped and half flew onto her cover, making Aara gasp.

This caught the little Ducks attention, and half scared the poor thing right off the bed.

"Oh my gosh Mama, she's awake!"

Aara's eyes opened in disbelief – _the duckling was speaking. The tales of talking beasts were true! How odd these beasts were!  
_

"You get down from there Feather Foot! I'll have none of your tales this morning!" The louder voice said from below. The little Duckling waddled closer to Aara who pressed back up against the backboard. Obviously this little...bird...wasn't going to do her any harm, but she had never seen one of the talking beasts of Narnia of before, and it all seemed very surreal. She could hardly believe it - it was actually speaking! In the common tongue!

"No, I mean it! I really mean it this time, not like those other times!" the little Duck said.

"I don't want to have to come up there and get you young man!"

"Yeah, come up here! Come up here!" the little thing said happily, beating his feathers so that he flew a little bit off the bed. Aara still hadn't said anything, and so the louder voice _did_ come up onto the bed, and Aara saw that it was a rather large Mother Duck, and could not help how her mouth hung open slightly. They were actually speaking to each other just like humans did. It was marvelous!

"You've no manners Feather Foot, when we get home, I'm-Oh!" The mother Duck stopped in her light scolding as she saw Aara, and spoke to her.

"Well thank Aslan, child!" She said, to which Aara swallowed heavily. "Oh you poor thing! You must be parched. There's a glass of water just over to your side," she continued, pointing to her bedside table. Aara realized she _was_ very thirsty, so reached over and took the glass slowly, drinking most of it down in one gulp, and then setting it back down on the table, the whole time keeping her eyes trained on the Duck.

"There now! Doesn't that feel a good deal better?" The Duck asked, looking pleased. "Now you just sit tight, while I fetch the Doctor" she said, flying off the bed and through the open door just as quickly as she had come.

The little Ducklings were all still there though, and came up onto the bed to say hello which they all did at the same time. It sounded a lot like 'Hi! Hi! Hi there! Hi! Hi!'

"...Hello," Aara said, her voice still rough with little use and disbelief.

The first one, Feather Foot, stopped in his hopping and came right up onto her knee making her jump slightly. "It's so good you're awake now, Lady!" he said. "You've been asleep a loooooong time and Mama's been soooo worried!"

"Oh...well, I'm quite sorry about that," she answered softly, still a bit unsure as how to address these ...ducks. On the one hand, they looked to be just children, so did manners and protocol really matter all that much? But on the other hand they _were_ talking beasts, so was there some special manner of addressing them? Her etiquette had never covered any of this, and Aara felt very confused and just a touch afraid. After all, she still had absolutely no idea where she was, or where her things were, or where her Horse was, or – oh! Oh, no, her _horse!_ Oh poor Abyad, she hadn't even _thought_ of him, he could be out there in the wild _starving_ or _killed! _And these little Ducklings kept on talking to her and she had absolutely no idea what to say to them! To her dismay her eyes began to water, and she swallowed hard to stop from tearing up.

"Oh, it's okay!" Another little Duck said. "You didn't do it on purpose!" And then another Duckling, who Aara thought might be a girl, spoke next.

"We heard all about how His Majesty went out to rescue you! He's so _pretty!_"

"White wing, only _girls_ are pretty!" Feather Foot said. The girl, White Wing apparently, answered him with a flippant "whatever," flicking her wing at him in a way that reminded Aara of how she used to treat her _own_ brother.

But suddenly Aara clued in to what the little Duck had said. _His Majesty?_

"Oh, I'm sorry, but - who did you say...rescued me?" She didn't have any memory of being rescued...although, considering her last memory was walking knee deep in the snow, it seemed a viable occurrence.

"King Peter silly!" The Duckling answered, and Aara let out a breath of disbelief. King Peter? Could it be that she had actually made it to the castle by the sea? It was too good to be true, surely.

"...King Peter...?"

"Yup!"

"Where am I?" she asked White Wing slowly.

"You're in bed!"

"...Oh...well, yes, I... I _am_ in bed, but I mean to say..._where_ am I – in whose home?"

"Our home!"

"Oh, you live here, do you?"

"Uh huh. Our Mama is a Nurse here, and we help her sometimes!"

"How lovely," Aara replied, not unkindly. "Where is 'here'?"

"The castle silly! Don'cha remember anything?"_ Oh sweet Tash, thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you..._

Aara let her head fall back onto the pillow in relief. "Not really, no," she answered apologetically, the words coming out of her mouth quietly. _She had made it!_

"Oh. Well, that's okay. I thought you could tell us a good story about bein' rescued, is all!"

"I'm Sorry. But I'm sure you could spin a tale far better than I, little duck."

Just then the Mother Duck returned, flying through the door and looked mortified to see all of her children up on the bed.

'Oh Aslan's mane!" she cried out. "I'm terribly sorry about this M'lady, I've no idea how they turn out to be so misbehaved..."

"Oh please, do not trouble yourself," Aara answered. This whole talking to animals idea wasn't so bad really, she figured. They were just like people – except...smaller. And...Ducks. And their manner of speech was so very casual, much unlike the way they spoke at home. Suddenly another voice spoke.

"Ah, it seems our patient has awoken," it said from the doorway. Thankfully it was a person – a very _large_ person, but still a person, nonetheless. It was an elderly gentleman, with long white curly hair and spectacles, and a smooth accent. He looked pleasantly at her, and she did not feel threatened by him, although his size was rather imposing.

"I am Doctor Cornelius, child," he said, walking over to her slowly. "What is your name?"

"Aara," she said, her voice cracking as she did so. She cleared her throat and answered again. "My name is Aara. Tarkheena Aara Dhanani. I have been told by these Ducks that I am in the castle of your Monarchs."

"You are indeed," the Doctor said. "Cair Paravel. I am the court Physician here. Their majesties found you yesterday night in the woods beyond the castle, and seeing you were harmed, brought you back for medical care. You seem to have taken quite the journey, my dear," he finished.

Aara hesitated before speaking, not sure of what she should and should not say. "I...have journeyed a long way, from the land Calormen, beyond your borders. I have done so in the hopes of imparting an urgent message to your monarchs, and I must speak with them as soon as possible. Truly, haste is of the utmost importance!" She finished, getting a bit worked up towards the end. She couldn't understand why she was so tired, or how they had even found her in the storm; nothing made sense.

"Yes," the Doctor said. "We have been...awaiting your arrival, my dear. Do not worry. Their majesties know you come with urgent tidings." Well, if she was confused before, this only added to it.

"I – I do not understand," she said, swallowing harshly. "How could they...?"

The only way she could think of was if somehow Rabadash had gotten word to them and demanded her be sent back...but that seemed improbable given how kindly she was being treated, and how she had already been there for a day or more. If that had actually been the case, she would have already been on the way back to Calormen. Plus, he did not know she headed to Narnia, let alone Cair Paravel, or so she hoped...it was in Tash's hands now, she thought firmly.

"It is not my tale to tell, good Lady," the Doctor said, gently patting her on the knee. "You will know everything there is to be told, just as you will be able to tell _your _story, very soon. But for now, we must focus on your own health, hmm?" Aara could only nod.

"Very good. How did you feel when you woke?"

"Much improved from when I was last conscious, although not as of yet fully recovered."

The doctor chuckled. "No, I imagine you will not be for a while yet. You have quite a number of ailments my Lady; hypothermia, windburn, frostbite, a sprained ankle, a dislocated shoulder, not to mention that head gash and your malnutritioned state."

"I offer you my sincerest gratitude for your assistance, good Doctor," Aara managed out, the words coming out slowly with the fatigue that was once again settling in. "Without such kind treatment, I would no doubt be in the hands of Tash."

The Doctor laughed a jolly sort of laugh, and there was a mischievous twinkle in his eyes. "Oh, do not thank me, my Lady. These things happen whether we will them to or not. It is His plan." Aara knew the Narnians worshiped a god other than Tash, but it didn't matter; she appreciated the sentiment anyways.

"Now," he continued. "You must be feeling quite tired – we'll let you sleep now, and then we'll have you eat. You haven't had any food in you for quite some time, and we need to get you fattened up again!" Aara couldn't help a small smile from coming to her lips.

"I will leave you now, my Lady," Doctor Cornelius said, patting her knee once more in a paternal sort of gesture, rising from his seat with the help of his cane. "If you should require anything at all, we are here to attend you."

And with that, Aara slept.

Peter had been in small council for two hours, listening to everyone argue about the tearing down and replacement of an old bridge in one of the westernmost Narnian territories.

It stretched across one of the vast gorges that had eroded out of the stone cliffs of Narnia over time, and connected one end to the other, allowing passage and trade. The two villages were quite interdependent, and the bridge was vital to their upkeep and way of life. However, after a series of hard storms, it had begun to look a little worse for wear, and the villagers were worried. Some members wanted to tear it down and build a new one that would withstand the pressures of the elements better. But what would the villagers do in the meantime?

The argument had been going on for the better part of an hour, but Caspian, who out of all of them knew the most about buildings and architecture, was fielding practically all of the questions and doing a good job of keeping tempers down, for the most part.

Peter had been trying his absolute hardest to give all of his attention, but he couldn't help his mind slipping away every so often to the girl upstairs. Her arrival had only brought more questions, not answers, and he was anxious for her to wake so that they might start getting somewhere instead of just deliberating over unknowable factors.

The discussion continued in front of him, with Caspian and the Royal architect discussing types of lumber and stone and binding materials. It was important work, just not very...interesting, Peter thought. Of course he wanted to make sure the people had every ability to continue on with daily life as quickly and safely as possible, but there wasn't a whole lot he could have contributed to the discussion anyways. This was the pro of having more than one monarch – they each had their weakness, but they each had their strengths, too. Architecture and engineering, it seemed, was his weakness and Caspians' strength. So he didn't feel too bad not joining in, knowing Caspian was perfectly suited to the task.

Just then, a messenger came through the back door. Peter recognized him as Oulis, the Doctor's private messenger. The Cat came up to Peter and he took the parchment from his mouth, thanking him, as the Cat ran off again.

He opened it to reveal Doctor Cornelius' elegant scrawl.

_Your Majesty,_ it read.

_You will be pleased to know our mysterious patient has awoken in good spirits. She has identified herself as the Tarkheena Aara Al-Fareed. She is currently resting, and will be able to receive your Majesty after the conclusion of small council._

_-C_

Peter smiled – _Aara._ It suited her, he thought. It was nice to finally have a name to the face. Actually, it was nice to have a face to the dream. Both were nice. He looked at the clock.

_1:27_

Small council concluded at three. He tucked the parchment in his breast pocket and put his mind forward to the task at hand. He could wait an hour and a half.

Aara was restless.

She had slept for another forty minutes or so, and had then been greeted again by Doctor Cornelius and two lovely servant girls who had brought food for lunch. The doctor explained that since she had not eaten for some time, she would have to reintroduce food slowly and in small amounts.

The small sample of Narnian food she was given was very different from Calormene cuisine. She was presented with a bowl of soup which, while mostly broth, was flavoured out of beef stock and vegetables she was unfamiliar with. Meat was not a large part of the Calormene diet, and the flavours were new but not unpleasant. In its regular form, Aara could tell the food was hearty, a good match for the cold climate. She was also given some mead, but turned it down in favour of water.

The servant girls were very pleasant and gentle, both of their skin being closer in colour to Aara's own, as they were of Telmarine descent. Their demeanors were much different from how servants acted in Calormen, where they were often treated like furniture, and slaves even worse. Aara was surprised, and pleasantly so, with how the girls were not afraid to speak to her as though they were used to interacting with lords and ladies. Such vibrant spirits in servants who looked to be enjoying their work was something Aara had not witnessed for a long time.

The girls, named Felicitas and Paloma, helped her with her dressings. Her hands were in awful shape, and she had almost cried when they had first unwrapped them the pain was so strong. The gash on her forehead was healing, but a large bruise had settled as well, dark purple and yellow on her skin.

They had led her to wash in the bath, a big copper tub filled with steaming water and healing salts. They were very careful around all her wounds, and Aara had never appreciated a hot bath more in her entire life. She soaked for what seemed like an eternity, letting the steaming water relieve her aches. She even dozed a while, as the girls patiently treated the wounds on her hands before wrapping them again, and waking her to dry and dress.

She had been given a simple but lovely dark blue dress to wear, that was cut in the Narnian fashion. It was very different from what she wore at home, but becoming. The neckline was modest, and cut in a square up to the shoulders. The sleeves were mercifully wide, allowing her to put her hands through them without pain. The bodice was tight, although the girls had not needed to use a corset as she was so skinny. They _tsk'd_ at her, telling her how much food she would be eating soon, and regaling her with tales of lavish Narnian court dinners.

The two girls had left then, and it was here that Aara now stood, looking at herself in the mirror. She almost did not know what to think of the girl standing in front of her, beaten up and bruised and barely recognizable. Here now, in the silence of the room, her thoughts plagued her.

She lifted a hand to the glass, letting it linger there. It all seemed so foolish, now, she thought. She had come all the way across the world it seemed, and for what? To tell Kings and Queens about a dream she had had?

_It wasn't just a dream!_ A little voice yelled at her. It _had_ been more than that, she had been sure... sure enough to risk everything, sell everything she owned, put the lives of her family in danger...for the second time this morning tears welled up in Aara's eyes. What if these monarchs did not believe her? What then? What was she even doing there, really? To say it had been a selfless act would be a lie – the prospect of getting away from the Tisroc had been alluring in itself. She wondered if her own selfish desires had taken over, and if she had doomed herself and her family by doing so. She was just one girl – one girl who had never done anything except live a spoiled life and cross a mountain and forsake her family.

She was a horrible daughter she thought miserably, grasping the edges of the mirror gingerly and resting her bruised forehead on the cool surface. She closed her eyes tightly against escaping tears and all her self doubts, willing herself to think rationally. She knew she needed to pray to Tash, but there were no alters here for him; no temples where she might go and seek guidance from the Almighty. There was only this little room, and the whole wide world outside of it. It would have to do.

Aara went and closed the curtains over the window, leaving only the fire as a source of light. She sank to her knees, mindful of how her leg muscles still protested against the movement, and knelt her body down to the ground, until her palms and forehead rested lightly against the ground. There were no prayer rugs or incense, but she would have to do without.

_Almighty Tash_, she said, _Help me to find strength in this distant land, and to remain true to my family and to myself. Allow me your wisdom, so I might complete the task I have been sent to fulfill. Forgive my doubts, and continue to show me the way to truth. Bless me, in the hope that I do not shame my family, and watch over me that I might act with dignity and grace. __Arrahman i erraheem, _she finished quietly, meaning 'most gracious, most merciful'.

She lifted herself up and sat normally on the floor, taking a deep breath and noting that it came a little easier, that her shoulders weren't quite so tight, that she was slightly more relaxed. She looked around the room, her eyes landing on her pack bag which was lying on the chair - she had completely forgotten about it! She shuffled gingerly forward on her knees, grabbing the pack. Inside was...nothing. _That's right_, she thought. She had eaten all her food and used up all her fabric and..._wait a minute_...

There, in the back lining, was a row of stitching that was sloppier than the rest. It was because she had done it herself, after cutting it away to slip something underneath...Aara pulled at the stitching awkwardly, the motions hurting her hands. After some time it gave, and she reached underneath, feeling around for a – _there it is!_ She pulled her hand away and held out her find.

A gold band, just big enough to fit around her upper arm. It was the symbol of the nobility in Calormen, and this one she had inherited from her great grandmother. She had hidden it away so that she would not be identified, and so that she would not lose it. It was warm in her palm as she worked it up over her left sleeve with her maimed hands, resting in the middle of her upper arm. Looser now than it had been before it would not stay – the silken material of the dress made it slip down easily. She allowed it to fall down, taking it off.

It was silly, she thought – it shouldn't mean anything. She was a Tarkheena with or without the gold band, but having it on her made her _feel_ like it just a little bit more. She stood slowly, and placed it under the pillow of the bed.

What a difference between here and her homeland. If she had arrived at the palace of the Tisroc looking as she had, she would have been thrown out, or into the dungeons, or maybe kept there as a slave. She thought about how her own people could call Narnians 'barbarians', when she had seen no evidence of that at all; when in fact, she had seen only evidence to the contrary. Different ranks and species intermingled and lived and worked together harmoniously...wasn't that level of respect and friendship and brotherhood exalted in their own sacred texts?

She glanced at the door. No one had told her she couldn't leave the room – after all, she was no prisoner here. But then again, she hadn't really been given express permission to leave, either.

What harm could it do to simply look outside a bit? Surely, not much. Just a look out her door, or maybe a little stroll to work her legs...she didn't know why she felt guilty doing so, it wasn't as if she was deceiving anyone! This nervousness would be the death of her Aara thought, as she gathered her wits about her and opened the door –

- only to fly back _screaming_ as she came face to face with a stunningly large feline beast , standing right outside the entrance, turning and snarling his huge teeth at her as she flew back.

And as it just so happened, Peter rounded the corner to her room at that very same moment.

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reviews are lovely!


	8. Seven: The Sitting Ducks

**Chapter Seven:**

**The Sitting Ducks**

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Aara slammed the door shut with as much strength as she could possibly muster, quickly turning the lock in place and immediately regretting it as the motion made her fingers burn something fierce. Sweet heavenly _Tash_ that was the largest beast she had ever seen in her entire _life_ and it was standing right outside her door! And it hadn't helped at all that at the sound of Aara's yell the cat had turned and snarled, giving Aara a lovely view of its large and razor sharp teeth.

She walked backwards away from the wooden surface, her eyes and mouth wide in disbelief and with her hands out behind her trying to find something to grab on to. That..._animal_...came up all the way to her waist, and easily outweighed her by at least 100 pounds! It was, in fact, _ridiculously_ large. She breathed deeply, trying to calm herself down. Her heart pounded erratically in her chest - that was _one_ thing she certainly hadn't expected to see when she'd opened up the door! She found the outline of the end board with her hand and grasped its edge firmly, waiting a stunned moment before dropping herself down with a thud. It wasn't as if there was anything else to be done; the door was the only way out and if that cat wanted to get in, it probably would not bother with the locks. But as the seconds passed it seemed less and less likely – after all, it wasn't tearing the door down; In fact, there wasn't _any_ noise from it at all that she could hear. There was simply quiet.

Her throat ached from how loud she had yelped, and she rubbed a hand over the surface of her neck. The more she thought about it, the less she believed she really had anything to fear. The probability that the animal was wild, or even untrained, was slim. After all, was this not the land of talking beasts? Had she not conversed with speaking Ducks just this very morning? Aara admitted to herself that she was actually more surprised and shocked than outright scared for her life. _She_ had probably scared _it _– or, _him_, she supposed, more than he had scared her- thinking about it now she hoped she hadn't offended him by flying back that way. She looked for a long moment at the door and then stood, walking back towards it.

With her hands placed flat against its surface, she moved so that her ear was directly against it. Still, she heard nothing. Tentatively, she spoke.

"...Hello?" she asked, not knowing if she would get an answer.

"Hello," someone answered directly after, and Aara moved her face away from the door quickly. The sound came from just _above_ her – it was not the beast speaking. It was clearly a man. The voice spoke again.

"I fear my Lady has been frightened by her guard – you've nothing to fear from Yagura, he'll do you no harm." The accent of the speaker was not the same as the Doctors' had been, or the two servant girls. It was less fluid, less flowery...a northern voice, hearty and deep. Again, his manner of speaking was more casual than Aara was used to.

Aara felt apprehensive about speaking in that moment, for reasons that she couldn't quite decipher. Her voice felt rough and unused, and her throat was dry and achy. What was she going to do though? Not answer? No, that would be ridiculous.

"...my Lady?" the voice asked again, in a concerned tone. It snapped her into speech.

"Yes!" Aara blurted out as an answer. "Yes, I – I am not accustomed to beasts – I meant no offense," she offered through the door.

"No offense taken, I'm sure. Won't you come out, my Lady? You may see for yourself how gentle the great brute really is." Aara could clearly hear the teasing note in his voice.

"Very well," she replied, quite nervous all of a sudden. _If only your stomach could stop turning for two minutes at a time! _She swallowed and reached down to unlock the door, the click of the lock sounding infinitely loud in the space around her and smarting her fingers once again. Maybe it was the fact that as soon as she stepped outside all of this became _real_; as long as she was tucked away in this little room she could still convince herself she hadn't _done_ anything, but as soon as she walked out the door... she would really be in Narnia; she would really be committing acts of high treason punishable by death. She waited just a moment then, to breathe slowly and calmly, and finally turned the handle and opened the door.

In front of her was a tall man with a kind smile upon his face and a head full of golden hair. He cut quite an imposing figure, standing before her with his broad shoulders and finery of deep maroon, with a sword at his hip and a golden medallion across his chest, on a chain of gold and ruby links. His features were strong – high cheekbones and a full mouth, and a jaw covered by golden whiskers! His eyes were the colour of clear blue quartz, a colour so light she had never before seen. His was a powerful face - no doubt a handsome face – and as she saw the gold circlet lying upon his hair, she realized it was also the face of a King. With his blonde hair and sun kissed skin, it was clear that this man was King Peter, the one whom her brothers' history texts called 'the golden defender'. Aara was quite overtaken; she felt very overwhelmed at that moment to be so suddenly thrust into the presence of one so highly decorated. The Tisroc himself never met personally with visitors unless they were of the _highest_ importance...how different things were here in the Northern lands, to be personally greeted by a King! She was struck speechless.

"Good afternoon, my Lady," he said, inclining his head towards her. "It's my hope that you are feeling quite recovered."

Aara found her voice, still shocked by the man in front of her. "To be sure I am a good deal recovered," she said, "and if I have not been deceived, it is because of your actions. I am forever in your debt, your Majesty" she finished, dropping almost to her knees in the low curtsy customary for royalty in Calormen , her palms pressed together underneath her chin, her head bowed.

"Oh- please, do not. That is not necessary," the King said. Aara raised her head, slightly confused. Was her show of subservience not adequate? "And do not be alarmed!" he continued, seeing the lines of her face grow into worry. "We are not so very formal in Narnia as those in Calormen. It would please me best to see you stand, if you wish to." Aara stood slowly, allowing the King to very lightly place his hands under her forearms, to brace her as she stood on still shaky legs.

"You are perceptive, my Lady!" he said after she had risen. "I am called High King Peter," he said, breaking off and bowing slightly. "It is my pleasure to welcome you to our fair lands. If I may, lady, - you are called the Tarkheena Aara Al-Fareed, are you not?"

Aara nodded, "Yes Majesty," she said, but it was coupled with a puzzled look. _How had he...? _ The King took in her furrowed brow and chuckled. "The good Doctor Cornelius," he explained. "But you knew me as well – how is it that that should be?"

What an odd question..._anyone_ would be able to tell the man in front of her was a King. It was evident in the way he spoke, the way he stood... "There are many in Calormen who know the tales of Narnia's High King; that, and the circlet you wear about your head, your Majesty." An odd look came over his face at her answer, turning down the very corners of his lips and furrowing his brow just the _slightest_...disappointment? Aara saw it immediately. "I – I am truly sorry if my answer displeases his majesty – I remember nothing of how I came to be found, and have never before crossed your borders." His face instantly cleared, the slight frown replaced by a smile.

"No, no – do not think of it. My own thoughts and troubles are not meant for a gentle lady's ear. And I would have you know that there is no debt to be repaid for our hospitality; It is simply my duty and the duty of all Narnians to ensure the safety of every traveler as best we are able," he answered, moving away from the door and sweeping out his left hand. "Won't you meet Yagura, my Lady?" he said, changing the subject swiftly. Aara stepped forward into the hall, coming face to face with the jaguar that had startled her earlier.

"High tidings to you, Good Sir," she said, bowing slightly, her long hair swishing about her and her palms pressed together before her. _Tash protect her, was he ever large..._ She forced a steady tone into her voice as she spoke. "My humblest and sincerest apologies to you for my conduct – I am but new to these lands, and have only heard tales and stories of the talking beasts of Narnia." The jaguar looked upon her with a sly eye, but not an unkind one.

The animal inclined his head towards her and swished his tail. His voice was low and smooth like a deep purr as he spoke. "I would be your guard, if you are not opposed."

"To be sure, I would be most honoured," Aara replied, her nervousness at his presence not yet fully abated.

"Now that that's been sorted," the High King interjected, "I'd ask if your ladyship would kindly follow me; my fellow monarchs anxiously await to meet you, and I hear you have been waiting with news of your own for us to hear?" Aara looked at him and nodded.

"Yes, your Majesty. With your humble permission, I would speak with your majesties on matters of grave importance."

"Grave importance? Well then of course permission must be granted; but all who seek it have an audience with myself and my siblings," he answered.

How gracious he seemed, this golden King with his easy manner and ready laugh! As they walked down the hall with Yagura following silently on her other side, Peter spoke lightly about where it was that Aara had been found, and again on how glad he was that she was on the road to recovery – it was all inconsequential and the both of them knew it. But they could not speak of the things they wished to speak of in public.

"If I may, your Majesty," Aara began as they neared the door the King was steering them to, but then stopped, thinking better of her question. He looked at her with a raised eyebrow. "Yes? My Lady may speak freely here," he said seriously.

"It was told to me," she said, "by the good Doctor who attended me, that I was...expected here?" The servants in front of the door bowed deeply and opened it, waiting for them to step through. "I cannot tell a lie, my Lady," he said, stepping aside so that she could enter first, "we have been expecting you for quite some time."

Peter held out his arm for her to enter the room, and watched her closely as she passed him. She was the very picture of Calormene high society, the perfect Tarkheena; her etiquette was impeccable, her formalities flawless. She spoke exceptionally formally as was customary of all Calormene nobles, and walked and talked with grace and dignity and class. No action seemed out of place; not the way she tilted her head to look at him better when he spoke, or how she had bowed to Yagura with practiced ease and elegance, even after being startled by him at first. Actually, he had had to stifle a laugh walking upon that scene, this slim girl shrieking and flying back, her hair whipping around her as the door slammed shut. Other than that incident, she was perfectly docile.

Watching her, she seemed to be...an utterly _different_ creature than the girl he had dreamed about, the girl who had ridden through a desert and crossed a mountain and driven through a terrible storm and almost died. He was having trouble reconciling this girl with the one who had performed all those tasks.

And how strange that she knew him, but only from hearsay! He had assumed that as he had dreamed of her, she too would have dreamed of him. It looked however, as if that was not so.

He shook his head slightly to clear it, and followed her into the room. They were in Edmund's private library, a circular room with high bright windows and a high ceiling, with all the rounded walls covered to their tops with books. There was a great wooden table in the middle, and a large roaring fireplace off to one side. It was a dusty, beautiful room, full of maps and books and instruments and ideas, and it seemed as good a place as any to privately discuss this matter amongst themselves. Susan, Lucy, Caspian and Edmund were already waiting there, and they all stood when they saw them enter the room. As they came to stand in front of his siblings he extended his hand. "My Lady Tarkheena," he said, "it pleases me for you to meet my fellow Kings and Queens of Narnia; Queen Lucy, King Caspian, King Edmund and Queen Susan."

If Aara had thought herself overwhelmed in the presence of _one_ of these great monarchs, she felt absolutely dwarfed in a room with all five, especially to meet them in such an informal setting, as well! She imagined that she must look quite small to these great lords and ladies, these Kings and Queens of Old. There seemed to be something ancient about them... something deep and grand and venerable. Aara could see it lying along the broad line of King Peter's shoulders, could see it twinkling in Queen Lucy's merry eyes, could see it hiding softly in the beautiful curve of Queen Susan's cheek; she could see it resting in the easy smile that graced Caspian's lips, and flowing across King Edmund's inquisitive brow. It was something that could not be named, an un-learnable quality...a kind of holiness, perhaps. After all, had they not been blessed by their God?

She clasped her hands before her as if in prayer and bowed deeply to them, her hair falling over one shoulder and rippling like water down to the ground. "Your Majesties," she said, holding that position for as long as her state would allow before standing upright once more. "I am Tarkheena Aara Al-Fareed. I have journeyed to your lands from across the mountains and the desert from the land Calormen, in order that I might speak with you. I must express to you my _utmost_ gratitude for your shelter and hospitality." Lucy left her place at the table as she finished and came forward to her, smiling and taking her hands lightly in her own.

"Thank Aslan that you are recovered and well, Tarkheena!" she said. Her voice sounded to Aara like bells, or a hymn; harmonic and sweet. "My sister and I worried terribly for hours, but Doctor Cornelius had faith all the while that you'd be just fine. You did meet him, didn't you?"

"Yes," Aara answered, feeling a bit out of sorts – she was not prepared for this outright burst of affection from the Queen – just a moment ago she had been in awe of her, and now she was holding her hands as if she were any other girl her age! She remembered to keep her body movements and voice smooth and graceful, not allowing her slight shock at the Queens' personable manner to show through. "He was very kind to me," she finished, and Lucy smiled brightly.

Peter, who was still standing at her other side, held out his hand again. "Come," he said. "Let us sit and talk." Lucy linked hers and Aara's arms together at the elbows and the two went to the table. "You will sit next to my sister and I, won't you?" she asked cheerfully, and Aara was reminded of a little bird – a hummingbird, perhaps, or a swallow; she seemed to flit around just as they did, bringing a flash of color along with her sweet voice.

As they came to their seats, Susan also reached for her hand, clasping it only lightly within her own, so as not to harm her. "My sister does not exaggerate, my Lady," she said. "It is our good fortune to know that you are well." The Queens' hands were warm and so too was her smile, and Aara noted to herself how true the stories were of her beauty; with long chestnut hair and milky skin, rosy cheeks and full lips, she was a sight to behold. Truthfully, a more beautiful woman Aara had never seen.

"Your majesty is most gracious," she replied, and Susan began to sit, allowing her to do the same. Before her, the table was full of plates of food – cheeses and fruits and bread, and large meats. Aara could see dust in the air around them, an ethereal sort of dust illuminated by light that reminded her of the way desert sand would blow through their courtyard off the mainland.

"My ladyship was in possession of a great steed, when she arrived at the castle, was she not?" Caspian asked, a half smile playing on his lips, as he reached forward with one hand to take a grape off one of the platters on the great table. Aara was slightly taken aback by the darkness of his eyes; this man was undoubtedly the Telmarine King, with his olive skin and smooth accent of the lands from across the sea.

"Indeed your Majesty – his name is Abyad, and he is truly a noble steed. My fortune at having him in my possession is great indeed. I would know what has become of him, if it can be told."

"He is safe in our stables, being spoilt by our stable masters. He is how we found you, my Ladyship, laying beside you. Did you know that?"

Aara smiled, and it was full of relief. She had wondered about Abyad, and was glad to know her horse had been found and cared for. "Such loyalty is not inconceivable to me, your Majesty – after all, when all others have forsaken him, does a man not still have his horse?" she asked, and the table laughed. "That is the truth, my Lady," Caspian answered.

"And women?" Aara turned – the question had been asked by Edmund, the only Monarch who had so far been silent. He sat relaxed in his chair with one knee up, his foot resting on an ottoman beneath the table. His features heavily matched that of Queen Susan's, with milky white freckled skin and dark hair that swept along his brow. His eyes were dark, and there was something in the way he regarded her – not unkindly, but as if he was testing her, _challenging_ her. He did not look unkind, but his demeanour was not easy in the way of his siblings. He looked a man who did not suffer fools gladly. He made Aara nervous.

He held her gaze as she asked what it was he had meant. "My lady said that when all others have forsaken a man, he still has his horse. But when all others forsake a women, what then is _she_ left with?" he clarified. Aara took a slight minute to respond, looking him in the eyes all the while.

"Her wits," she said with a slight smile playing on her lips, and was rewarded with laughter from around the table and Edmunds' own slow smile; it was a good answer. Lucy clapped and Edmund quirked his brow. "Indeed," he said, still smiling. "That is _also_ true."

"Well of course it is," Susan began, a coy smile upon her face, "it isn't as though we can rely on our _men_, can we?" she finished, and the girls laughed. Ever the gracious hostess, Susan asked, "Wine, Tarkheena?" holding up her own silver goblet that was no doubt holding the substance in question.

"Graciously I must decline, your Majesty; wine is forbidden for women in Calormen," she answered, and Susan looked surprised. "Oh!" she said, "my apologies. It has been...many years since I have been to Calormen I'm afraid – the customs have changed from when I was there last, have they not? I do not remember that."

"Yes your Majesty; our Tisroc, may he live forever, takes a very...literal approach to certain aspects of our holy texts," she answered, forcing herself to remain polite and dignified even whilst speaking of Rabadash, even stating the venerable prayer of eternal life. The Monarchs did not miss her subtle hint though – _aspects_ of the holy texts – and Peter especially filed it away for further thought.

"Well piety or not," Susan cut in, "you will still drink something, won't you? Doctor Cornelius insists that you remain hydrated and I'm determined that your health should only flourish during your stay with us. The last apples of the season have been picked and our cooks make a lovely cinnamon cider – what say your Tisroc about that?"

Aara could not help a smile – the gentle Queen was as lovely as she had read about. "He would quite condone it, I am sure; I thank you for your gracious accommodation."

"It is no trouble," Susan replied. "And please, we are not so formal here as to require 'Majesty' and 'Grace'; you must call me Queen Susan, and all of us the same."

"You are most gracious, Queen Susan – it is my great honour to acquiesce."

A servant came in then with a pitcher of cider, and placed a silver goblet before Aara filling it with the steaming liquid. Aara pressed her palms together in front of her and inclined her head towards the servant, thanking them in Calormene fashion. It was in fact a much greater gesture than she would have normally afforded a servant, but Aara remembered the excellent treatment of her serving girls before, and was careful to try and mimic the respect given to servants she had so far seen. The servant left the pitcher on the table and left the room, and the steam from the drink wafted up and filled the air around her with the smell of apples and cinnamon. Peter filled his glass and raised it, as did the others. "To peace and good health," he said, and heard it echoed around him and then the sound of drinking.

"Now," he said, looking to Aara, "I believe her ladyship has some grave matters to discuss with us."

Edmund looked at the girl who was seated in front of him across the table with a critical eye. This was his first real glimpse of 'the little Tarkheena' as Doctor Cornelius was calling her. He had barely seen her as he had brought her into the castle, and hadn't gone into her rooms to see her as Peter had – after all, she _had_ been asleep; as long as he knew that she wasn't going to die then what purpose would it have served? He didn't particularly care what she looked like.

Seeing her now though, the first thing he had done was raise his eyebrow in disbelief. _This_ was the girl who had crossed the desert and the perilous mountain ranges of Archenland and managed to keep herself from getting killed by the Tisroc's guard and then had made it all the way to the woods beyond the castle?

Why, she was barely a slip of a thing! She couldn't have been any older than Lucy, just as Peter had said. In fact, she was probably younger, now that he was looking at her. She wasn't short, exactly – she was taller than Lucy but watching her walk in he saw that Peter had almost a head on her. She was skinner than anything – couldn't have weighed more than 110 pounds, at the most. Her hands were bandaged as well as her forehead, and she moved and rose gingerly, as if a touch afraid of sudden pain. Her cheeks were sunken and her skin was a pallid light brown, instead of the usual golden caramel of the peoples of the south. Deep circles under her eyes and cuts on her face added to her injuries – she looked exceptionally worn, to be frank. Edmund had to admit though that she was not plain – her features, although not in the Narnia fashion, were quite pretty even when obscured by illness and injury. It seemed the only _un_injured thing about her was her hair, which rippled down like an inky waterfall, straight as a pin and black as the night to almost her knees.

Honestly, he wasn't sure what he had been expecting in her place, but she was just such a _tiny_ and _dainty_ looking thing – she was hardly physically intimidating; he doubted she could hold a blade or shoot an arrow, although her riding skills were well developed it seemed. Her name was familiar to him as well, _Al-Fareed..._not that he had ever met someone with that name, but in the way that he might have read it somewhere, in one of the countless history books that surrounded him daily. It seemed, when they had returned to Narnia, that all he _did _at first was read history books, trying to catch up to all that had happened during their absence. He made a mental note to go through the archives and see what he might find on her family.

Edmund was not of the school of thought that a correct opinion of a person could be formed at first glance, or that it was set in stone. No, he had learned that lesson long ago in the back of an icy sleigh, on a frosty winters' afternoon. _No one was ever exactly what they seemed._ And this girl seemed a study of contradictions. On the surface she looked to be the perfect Tarkheena – she was graceful, polite, well mannered and perfectly lovely, like a beautiful painting or sculpture. There was an air of innocence and fear to her still– a sort of beguiling youthfulness. It sort of reminded him of Lucy, but where this little Tarkheena was wary, Lucy was bold and exuberant. They might have been two arrows, shot from the same location, going in opposite directions. He ceased his observations as she began to speak.

"Yes," she began, the expression on her face working its way into one of serious concentration and a hint of...insecurity? "If I may, I humbly ask your Majesties to allow me to tell my tale in its entirety, before you question it."

"Yes of course Tarkheena," Lucy said in that way Lucy always had of making you feel better and calm all in the same moment. "Go on - It's quite alright, you know." The Tarkheena looked to Lucy for a short, blunt moment, and then nodded brusquely, smiling a tight lipped smile. Why was she so nervous all of a sudden?

"Very well," she said. "I suppose I must start with...the very beginning. As your majesties are aware, my name is Tarkheena Aara Al-Fareed. My family is of a very old blood line, and my ancestors are very much ingrained in the grand tale of our history. My father was personal adviser to our previous Tisroc (Tash rest him, may he live forever in the almighty kingdom after death) and my brother, Nasir, is a councilman on Tisroc's (may he last forever) grand council of advisers. Your Majesties are undoubtedly aware that one month ago our previous Tisroc, Ramalesh the Third (rest him, may he live forever in the almighty kingdom after death) took ill suddenly, and passed away. He was..." she trailed off for just a moment, as if some memory had seized her unexpectedly and taken hold, and then began again. "He was an exceptional leader," she finished. "He was loved fervently by our people, of all classes and religious sects, from many corners of our region. He was...a most tolerant and benevolent ruler...and extolled most highly. It was upon his death that his son, our current Tisroc, _may he live forever_, ascended to our highest office. At this time, I was-" she stopped and swallowed briefly, but there was no waver in her voice, "chosen by him to become his first wife, called the _Priza _in our old language." She pronounced the last word, 'pree-zah', rolling the 'r' slightly.

Edmund couldn't help the swift raising of his eyebrow at her statement. A flash of something rolled through him, filling his mouth with an unpleasant taste, making him bite his tongue; anger, perhaps? Or distaste... he had never agreed with the Calormene practice of multiple wives, and even though the Tarkheena was most assuredly old enough for marriage there, here in Narnia she was probably not even at the age of majority – still a child. Or maybe it was the fact that she obviously had had no choice in the matter that made his brow furrow. He would never have guessed her to be married. If she had simply been a Tarkheena, that was one thing. But the wife of the Tisroc? Well that was quite another matter entirely.

"Of course, we have not yet joined together in matrimony – if a Tisroc should succumb to death, _Tash willing it not be so,_ there must not be any celebrations amongst the people during the mourning period, which lasts for 90 days and nights. It is one of the highest crimes of our land to disregard these rules of mourning. However," she added, almost as an afterthought, "I remain, in utmost gratitude and reverence, his most humble betrothed," she finished.

_So_ – Edmund thought. That made sense. After all, she had given them her own name, hadn't she? He should have realized she was only betrothed – there was no ring on her finger after all, and she wore none of the traditional symbols of a married woman on her person.

"When I came to the Palace of the Tisroc (May he live forever) I began to have...strange dreams."

Edmund watched Peter sit up just a little straighter in his chair. "They were unlike anything I had ever dreamed before. They began simply as flashes of color and sound, but quickly became images of places I had never seen before...never even known existed. I saw great forests and waterfalls, a castle by the sea...and snow unlike anything I had ever imagined, covering stretches of land as large as a desert. Everything I dreamt was incredibly detailed, to a degree where I became convinced that these places must in fact, exist in our world. They were vivid in a way that would be impossible for me to describe. I would wake up freezing, as if I had _actually _been visiting these places." Peter was really paying attention now, Edmund could see. That sounded a lot like his own visions from before.

"But that is beyond the point, I believe," she finished. "I also saw a great – a great lion," she went on, as if expecting ridicule. Lucy gasped audibly from across the table, her mouth slightly open, and the Tarkheena shot her a wary look, but then continued when no one said anything else. "I do not know the significance of this form," she went on, and Edmund once again found himself in disbelief. _She does not know of Aslan?_ But then he realized that she would have no reason to – thousands of years had gone by with the Narnians expelled to the forest, their customs and religion gone with them. The Calormenes had not believed in Aslan. Why would someone from another country altogether – a woman, no less, who had probably not been educated (as was the custom in Calormen) – know of him? She continued.

"But In my dreams he..._spoke_ to me; he bade me _'go north with a warning'_. When the dreams first started I paid this...little mind, admittedly," she said sheepishly, "as I had no idea what this dream-lion might have been referring to, or if he was even _real_, or if these dreams were just... anxiety, perhaps, an escape of some kind...again, I was hesitant to believe them. I tried very hard to ignore them; I took sleeping draughts, the most powerful that could be prescribed, I attempted many times to go without sleep, but nothing was able to rid me of the dreams. They still came every night, always more vivid than before. There was nothing that happened in the dreams, just images of places, but every time they came I would wake utterly exhausted and anxious. I had no idea what they could mean, and for weeks they continued, keeping me in a state of paranoia. It was a... trying time, to say the least. However, one night...three weeks ago now, I was in a part of the palace I was not supposed -" she broke off with a small breathy laugh.

"But, that is not significant. What is significant is the conversation I overheard that night. Truly, I was not surprised as to the _content_ of the conversation, but it was then that I realized this was what the Lion in my dream must have meant by a warning. I heard many men in a room – among them, the Tisroc (may he live forever) and other men of significant influence...military commanders, generals, some few members of the council. Some I did not recognize, others I knew well. What connected them all – the ones I knew, at least- was that they all of them heavily supported many of the Tisroc's new initiatives...heavy taxation of the poor, further restrictions on women, military action against the tribes that live somewhat separate from us in the great desert...many of them also for further expansion of our borders. I know this because of my brother, Nasir, who is –" she cut off again, as if trying to find the words delicately, "-one of some numbers who significantly oppose these initiatives. He was, as was my father, very loyal to Ramalesh...very believing in his ideals and goals."

Now _this_ was interesting – it made Edmund think back to what Glenstorm had said about spheres of influence in the south. Ramalesh the third _had_ been a good ruler, if a distant one; in the past four years Narnia had not once had a skirmish with Calormen. However, that didn't mean that relations were open and friendly, per se...just...neutral. But he treated his people well and was well loved as the Tarkheena said. It was certainly intriguing to hear of her family's affiliation with him.

"They spoke plainly of war with your country," she said, without preamble or flowery pretext, and there was a brief epoch of silence; a small moment of profound gravity in which a ruler recognizes that his fear has come to pass, that indeed someone has been plotting to take the lives of those he calls his citizens.

"The Tisroc is a proud, cruel man - he longs for glory, not justice...he would go to war with you, and lead not only your own countrymen to death, but also my own, for the sake of his own aspirations. " She was speaking in a sad tone, her accent strong in her melancholy.

"When I heard this, it became clear that these dreams...or _visions_, perhaps, were...willing me to play a role. I realized that the dreams and the dream Lion which had plagued me for so long were in fact a sign from Tash. And so I endeavored to fulfill the task Tash set before me, and now, have done. I bring you this warning in the hopes that it may aid you in some way," she finished.

Edmund shifted his eyes away from the Tarkheena and to those of his siblings, looking to Peter last. The mood was heavy and grim. _So it was true then_; this little Tarkheena had heard it herself. The new Rabadash was as empty-headed as the first, and was planning for war. Peter spoke at last, his voice strong and clear above the din that seemed to fill Edmund's ears.

"So then it is as we had predicted," he said. "It will come to war." The Tarkheena's eyes widened, as if surprised at Peter's easy belief in her statements. "Does his Majesty – how does – you are willing to take only _my_ word as proof of intent to war?" She asked incredulously. A grim smile lit Peter's face. "If only it _were_ simply your word, my Lady, things would be much simpler," he said. She didn't understand.

"Doctor Cornelius told you that we had been expecting you, did he not?" he asked.

"Yes...he did, but I-"

"It is because I have had dreams as well," he interrupted. "Only _mine_ have been of _you_, my Lady," he finished pointedly. "The night you left Tashbaan, I saw it," he said, "and every night thereafter until you crossed the border I dreamt of you, along the desert road and in the mountains." He continued to tell her of the dreams, speaking frankly and candidly of them and what he had seen. The Tarkheena's expression was still one of cautious disbelief, until she realized something.

"So you – _knew_ me. Earlier," she said slowly, the expression on her face changing to slight betrayal, as we all feel when encounter a white lie.

"Yes," Peter said, the word coming out on a breath. "I apologize for the small deception – my only goal was to see if you too had known _us_ in the same way – if, as I was experiencing visions of you, you were also having them of me."

She nodded, as if not quite sure whether to believe that or not. "No," she said. "I never once dreamed of any person. None but the lion."

"Aslan!" Lucy said excitedly, and the Tarkheena looked to her. "I...what?" she asked, the sentence completely devoid of any grace or etiquette. Edmund felt bad for the poor girl – after all, she hadn't asked for all this confusion, had she?

"The Lion – it's Aslan! The highest King, the creator of Narnia. Look!" she said, standing and pushing plates from the middle of the table to the sides, handing one platter to Susan and another to Caspian, and picking up the maps and charts laid flat on its surface and gathering them in her arms. "See?" she asked, pointing to the now visible bare surface of the dark cherry wood table. There, on the tabletop, was ingrained in gold leaf and silver a beautiful and ornate portrait of Aslan. Edmund watched as Aara's brow furrowed, her bandaged hand coming forward to lightly touch the image of the Lion.

"This is who you saw, yes?" Lucy asked.

The Tarkheena was silent for a moment, nodding her head slightly. "Yes," she said quietly, still entranced by the image on the table.

"Four years ago," Lucy said, "my siblings and I were called back to Narnia after thousands of years had passed here. We came to put Caspian on his rightful throne as a King of Narnia." Edmund watched Aara nod – she obviously knew the story. "Afterwards, we thought we'd be sent back by Aslan to our world – where we originally came from – but we weren't. And this is why – it's a prophecy, here, you see? In all that time we'd been gone, something changed – and this became the future – _this_, here, happening right now. Aslan told us that one day, a change would come on the western wind that would bring us joy and life, but also pain and suffering. These past weeks you've been having dreams of him, telling you to come here to Narnia. And Peter's been having dreams of you. And then last night a terrible storm rolled in on the western wind, and brought you here, to us."

"It's how we believe you," Lucy said kindly. "Aslan came to you and _spoke_ with you – Peter saw it when he saw you in his visions. You couldn't mean to harm us, not if Aslan's put his faith in you. After all, he led you to us! How could you be anything but good?"

Aara was absolutely dumbfounded. This lion was...the very _image_ of the one she had seen in her dreams. This was their God? What did this mean? And this talk of a..._prophecy , _it allsounded absolutely _ludicrous_...she believed in _Tash_ – he was her god, her religion. She did _not_ believe in these northern gods...

But there was no denying it...no denying the existence of Him. She had _seen_ the lion, _followed _him...and she could remember the feeling of revelation she'd had when listening to the men in that room...remembered thinking that it all made _sense_, that she wasn't going crazy...

If there was no stock to be put in any of this, then why was she standing here now? Thousands of miles away from home, committing treason? It had seemed real enough then; real enough to commit to it, anyhow. Was it just saying it out loud that scared her? Her mind was all a jumble, nothing made sense.

But the littlest Queen was bright and comforting next to her, all smiles and calm words.

"Don't fret, dear Lady!" she said. "Here, sit down, won't you?" she asked, placing the maps and charts back on the large table, and helping Aara back down into her chair. She then sat back down in her own chair, keeping one arm twined with Aara's all the while.

"I apologize," Peter said. "This must be – quite a lot of information for you to take in. But as I said, it isn't just your word. It's Aslan's...and mine, and...fate, maybe; along with some...other things that substantiate your claims."

"What things?" Aara asked, feeling utterly exhausted. She didn't know why she felt so wretched – after all, her biggest fear had been that these monarchs would call her a liar, and _not_ believe a word she said. Wouldn't _that _have been the worst case scenario? But here she was, being met with nothing but acceptance and agreement, and all of a sudden it was as though she couldn't _breathe_, couldn't even _think_.

This was _real - _this was actually _happening_; there was going to be a _war_.

_There was going to be a war. And she was helping to make it so._

"We have reports that Rabadash is, or has been, constructing a military settlement along the western edge of Calormen, at the base of the Western foothills leading into Archenland."

Aara was quiet, still, not responding to what the King had said. _A settlement..._ it made sense, didn't it? Her brother had often said that money had been disappearing for some months now from public initiatives, but they could never find out what it was _going_ to.

"And there's more," Peter went on. "You should know that soldiers from Rabadash's elite guard were seen in the mountains at the same time you travelled through them."

Aara lifted her head at this news – it seemed abnormally heavy, as if it weighed a ton. Why was she so _weary? _"But – I made it through the mountain," she said softly, almost as if she was asking, instead of telling.

"Perhaps retrieving you was not their goal," Susan said softly, her voice like honey; warm and smooth.

"And there have been changes in the stars, as well," Caspian said. "A centaur, Glenstorm, reads the stars with his people – they have agreed that war is coming."

Aara knew nothing of these centaurs – and truth be told, at that moment she cared little about what she thought of the stars. She just wanted to _sleep_.

"Why Tarkheena," she heard Susan say. "You look positively green! Are you alright?" Aara lifted her hand to her head, in a confused way.

"Yes...of course, my Queen, I'm...perfectly fine. Simply...tired, that is all." The words came out slowly and stilted, prompting Lucy to raise a hand to her forehead.

"You're burning up!" She proclaimed.

"Oh, am I?" She answered, her voice now light and airy, as if drugged.

"We _must_ get you to bed this instant," Lucy said. "Shame on us for bombarding you with all of this when you're hardly well enough for it. Doctor Cornelius is going to be so very disappointed in us Susan," she went on, as she and Susan moved to help Aara into a standing position. Aara noted that the King looked dreadfully sheepish.

"I cannot apologize enough, my lady, I – suppose we were zealous in our quest for answers. Please, you must do as my sisters ask and rest."

"We'll take you to your room, Tarkheena, and bring up Doctor Cornelius," Susan said, managing to look every inch the regal Queen even whilst holding Aara's arm.

"I'm so dreadfully...sorry, your Majesties, I just feel exceptionally...faint," Aara managed to get out.

"Oh it's not your fault at all Lady Aara, you're ill! Now come," Susan said. "You must get some more sleep." The three ladies made to leave, and the Kings rose from the table to watch them go. Their skirts sashayed behind them, filling the now silent room with a _swish swish_ sound. As they walked out of the room, Peter saw briefly the flick of Yagura's tail as he moved to follow behind them. Then, the door was shut.

"Well," Edmund said, one eyebrow raised and a coy smirk upon his face. "That went well." Peter shot him a look. "It did!" he defended. Peter 'hhmmed' thoughtfully as the three of them descended back into silence.

"What did you think of her?" Peter asked quietly.

"Lucy has taken a liking to her," Caspian added. "And any friend of Queen Lucy's is a friend of mine," he said, referring to Lucy's uncanny ability to judge a persons' character.

"I don't see any reason we shouldn't," Edmund added in. "She seems exceptionally genuine. Very confused. I don't envy her."

"I understand the hardship of it," Caspian said. "It is always difficult to fight against your own people, even if their ruler is corrupt. You look into their eyes on the battlefield, or wherever, and even if you have never met them before you share a birthplace, still, and that is a powerful thing. You wonder about your own identity. It is...trying. I think she must have reserves of strength, yes?" he finished on a teasing note.

"She does look like a meek little thing, doesn't she?" Edmund teased. "And so proper!"

"That's what I thought!" Peter joined in. "Does she look like she could cross a mountain?" he asked incredulously.

"Well, she is pretty banged up though. I mean she's still ill," Edmund said.

"Susan and Lucy are going to mother her. They love that. They'll make her their little pet," Peter interjected, picking up a grape from the table.

"No," Edmund objected, "Only Lucy." They all laughed.

"Indeed," Caspian agreed. "But putting humor aside, we must focus on the task at hand. The ball, first – we must alert the other rulers as quickly as possible. Other than that, what can we do? Nothing. We can do nothing until the enemy makes a move first. Until Donar sends word, or Rabadash himself, or we are acted upon, we are...how do you say it? There is an expression, I can't recall it...sitting...what?"

"Ducks," Peter and Edmund chorused together.

"Yes," Caspian sighed. "Sitting Ducks."

* * *

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